Ismene
by The First Blue
Summary: "What is your name?" He stated calmly as he carelessly disrobed. I watched him through the small tear in the leather. Breathless. His sword hit the furs with a soft thud and I felt the priestess catch her breath.
1. I, of no blood

_"What is your name?" He stated calmly as he carelessly disrobed. I watched him through the small tear in the leather. Breathless. His sword hit the furs with a soft thud, and I felt the priestess catch her breath._

**I, of no Blood**

Earlier…

I'd lain in the yellow grasses as the Greeks claimed the beach. We received no warning about the incoming storm, and by the time that we heard the earthy clangs of the bells, it was too late to run, and there was no one to save us. The dry, narrow strip of field was my only calling refuge. Some in the group chose to run – the trails of blood sliding down the sandy slope were the fruits of their labor. My heart burned from the ache and from the sun as I lay in that grass. Thick dust forced its way down my throat, yet I could not cough for fear of discovery – they were mere spans away from my refuge. I repressed my coughs and my breaths as thick tears traced their way down my cheeks due to the effort. I could not breathe. I dare not breathe. I watched Helios mercilessly drag his light to the west as I lay there in that grass. The monsters were putrid. The haze of dirt and heat clouded my vision, but I could hear their brute tongue as they erected leather domes and makeshift dwellings. They laughed and praised one another, grease and sweat glistening on their bodies. I faintly saw the etching of a horse on their tarps and cloths. Before the heat claimed me, I saw the royal priestess, Briseis, being carried towards a nearby tent, the largest in the local encampment. She looked to be breathing, but I could not trust my eyes. I turned fully from my belly to my side, remaining as low as I possibly could. I shut out the sound of the world around me with my head sandwiched between the ground and my hand. And I prayed.

The sun, ever so present, remained to greet me. I had fainted for only a few moments. The dry earth scorched my feet as I shifted slightly, aiming to alleviate the weight across my back. The majority of the men had moved to erect the opposite part of the camp, and I could see that the tent harboring the priestess was largely free of outside loiterers. The back of the tent faced the rocky hills to the east, yet I could not make the journey to the hills – it was still too light, and I would be spotted without hesitation. The large tent did provide the only thing I needed, wanted, and longed for – shade, from the sun and the Greeks. I shifted my head to see the men retreating to their ships for provisions and decided to take the chance. I slowly rose from the grass, taking care to remain as low as I could. The brown of my dress blended easily with the sand as I paced the few meters to the back of the tent.

Faintly, I heard the returning voices of the Greeks. I was only halfway to the tent when I heard the voices. Without hesitation, I ran, wildly. I couldn't be taken captive. I ran and ran and, finally, reached the tent. Immediately, I dropped to the ground as thick dust and sand swirled around me. My breathing was not my own as I felt the nonhuman beating of my heart. I clapped a hand over my mouth to lessen the noise of my breathing, and I listened. I listened for any sign of alarm at my sighting. I was paralyzed with fear, with terror. I listened for over an hour.

I heard no rise in volume, nothing. My heartbeat subsided, and my breath was again my own. I untangled my legs from under me and stretched them towards the rocky hills of the seaside. Oh, never was there a greater feeling than safety, even this modicum amount that I had achieved. I drew closer to the leather of the tent and wrapped my arms around my legs. My faint happiness was suddenly brushed away as I contemplated my next journey. I had nowhere to go. The gates of Wilusa – Troy, in my tongue – would have been sealed by now, and any neighboring village would attack at the sight of me. Even if I were to escape the camp unseen, I knew that guards and scouts lay in wait for any lone wanderer. As well, the Trojans would kill any dark figure emerging from the Greek camps. I had no place to go. I was not sure if the Trojans would send a messenger to somehow rescue captive, Trojan citizens, but I knew that I would not benefit. I was not a Trojan. I was nothing to both sides, neither a Trojan nor a Greek. But, Troy was my home and, as my vision clouded, I knew that I had no hope of returning.

I heard a whimper from inside the tent, and I realized that I had forgotten completely about the priestess Briseis. She, of royal blood, trapped in that leather dome of suppression, and I, of no blood, free within a scope of dark terror. I did not hear any other sounds from the tent, and I knew that her captors had left.

I had to try.

"Mistress Briseis…" I whispered with a voice choked and sore from dust, my cheek flattened upon the leather. She did not reply. Again, I attempted. Again, no reply. I reached up to my hair and pulled out the blunt, metal pin that secured my hair to the top of my head. My hair, ungraciously, fell over my eyes as I turned to face the leather to my back. I lightly felt the tent for a wooden, support beam and smiled slightly when I felt a beam a hand-span away. After a quick prayer to no god in particular, I pierced the leather near the beam until I had a tear that equaled the length of my tiniest finger. I froze for a few moments and fastened the pin and my hair back onto the top of my head. My finger traced the tear, I exhaled and moved to look into the tent.

My eyes met the bruised hands of the priestess where it was fastened to an inner beam. I was directly behind her. Apart from a wound on her lower cheek, she did not seem to be greatly injured, and her breathing was constant. Her knees swung nonchalantly as she looked about the tent. I followed her line of vision to explore the tent, myself. Dark baskets chocked full of gold, bronze greaves to my left, a polished breastplate to my right, spears upon spears upon spears across the dark tent, dark furs on the sand, white furs on the bedding, fragrant smoke, and all things warrior. I called to the priestess once more.

"Mistress Briseis…" Her head snapped to recognition as she seemed to hear my voice. I smiled and called once more, "Mistress Bri-…" My tongue was stilled as the leather flaps of the tent were pulled aside. Briseis looked immediately to the entrance as I quickly retreated from the hole in the tent.


	2. Sweet Bread and Cool Water

**Sweet Bread and Cool Water**

"…thought she'd amuse you…" I heard faintly. Then, there was the shuffling of feet, unbuckling of straps, and splashing of water. I took another breath, peeked once more, and met the sun in all of his blazing glory.

The blood of those that he killed fell in droplets from his gold hair as he moved about the tent. He was speaking to the priestess, but I could not decipher any of it. I did not want to. This bringer of death and horror moved so gracefully around his tent, he washed himself of heat and sweat, he had his fill of sweet bread and cool water, yet my friends, those that he and his men had killed, those who had laughed with me just this morning, lay unmoving on the hot sands of Troy.

"What is your name?" He stated calmly. His sword hit the white furs with a thud, and I heard the priestess catch her breath. She did not answer.

He looked at her briefly, expecting his answer. No answer. He continued cleaning. I sighed softly and shrank back from the tent, but not before I caught a flash of something blue, blue and very dark. It was the heat, I figured, playing with my vision. Again, I sat, hugging my legs to me and resting my forehead against my knees. The low hum of voices almost lulled me to sleep, if it were not for the burning heat.

I listened to the conversation within the tent, barely, until I heard the man speak, "You need not fear me girl. You're the only Trojan who can say that." I moved to peek once more through the tear.

I was greeted by the chilliest blue eyes I had ever seen. I stifled a scream as I fell back onto the sand. I pushed myself upwards and turned to run towards the rocky hills. He was the blue that had crossed my vision. I ran through the grass patch, the vegetation lacerating my ankles. The dirty grass gave way to Trojan sand as I saw the start of the hills just ahead. I heard them behind me, but I chose to ignore the sounds. I ran maniacally as the sand sunk beneath my feet and as the hot wind tore my hair from its knot to billow around my face, blocking my vision. But, I continued as the feeling of jagged rocks under me signaled the start of the hills. I was almost there.

I gasped.

My head was jerked back grotesquely as a strong arm wrapped itself around my hair. I was briefly lifted off of my feet as the arm grabbed the back of my neck and brought me down to the sand. My cheek painfully greeted the blunt side of a large boulder. I had no time to react as I was lifted by my throat to stare into the angriest eyes that I had ever seen.

"Who sent you? Speak," came the smooth voice, "or I will have your head on a spit." I clutched at his hand, gasping for air. His eyes darkened and his grip tightened.

"Pl…please," I mustered pathetically, barely above a whisper. I saw a large figure approach from behind my choker.

"Patroclus." The figure stated in the voice that I had come to know so well. "Release the girl." The grip of this Patroclus relaxed and I immediately fell to the sand, gasping and coughing and spluttering. I looked to my savior, the demon who had commanded the murder of my friends. By this time, a crowd of men had gathered around me. All were chatting, pointing, and smiling smugly at me, the small girl who had evaded their slaughter. At once, I stood up in my small defiance and looked at the large man. He halted his approach and cocked an eyebrow at my flash of bravery, or stupidity. The crowd of men hushed and stood in wait for my proclamation.

"Kill her," said Patroclus, turning to the bigger man, "her coloring is not Trojan. We have no use for her." They both shared a similar resemblance, but the man in the tent was bigger and older. He never looked away from me.

I stood rooted at my spot, awkwardly fidgeting with my hands by my side. The large man slowly walked to me, his large arms folded upon his chest, and a slight smile playing on his lips. I stepped back in an attempt at escape, but he held up his hands, a gesture of peace.

"I won't hurt you, girl," he said, "See, I am unarmed." He stood directly in front of me; my head barely reached his shoulder. "Who are you?" He asked directly. My tongue was tied. I tried to speak, but the hushed sneers and chuckles of the men around him prevented my voice.

"Is she mute?" I heard a man shout to the laughter of many. "Can't the bitch speak?" Another yelled. My breathing increased and my face grew flustered at the jeers and insults, but the stare of the man had the greatest effect. Patroclus shook his head and sighed loudly. "Cousin, she is nothing but a foreign whore." He said. "Unclean, at that." Adding, as he looked down my frame. "Give her to Ajax. To him, dirty holes are still holes."

"I am no whore!" I yelled, surprising myself. Murmurs rushed through the crowd as Patroclus looked at me incredulously. "I am not a whore." I repeated softly.

I looked briefly at the golden man. That smirk never left his face. "Eudorus," he called out suddenly, his eyes never leaving mine.

An older soldier stepped forward from the crowd. "My lord."

"The men need rest. See to the camp." His eyes never left mine.

"My lord." The soldier turned to the men. "Myrmidons! To the ships!" The crowd dissipated and I was left with Patroclus and the golden man. The smaller man whispered a few words to the larger man who curtly silenced him. Patroclus threw a look of disgust towards me and turned to head back into the camp, and I stood with the killer.

"It's always the smallest who go unnoticed, isn't it?" He said as he walked even closer to me, close enough for his shadow to completely shade me from the sun. He bent slightly.

"I have had my fill of silent girls today. If you would like to die, remain silent." Straightening, he added, "I am Achilles, son of Peleus. You are who? Daughter of whom?"

"I am Ismene," I muttered.

"Ismene." He repeated. "A foreigner with a Greek name. Where are you from, Ismene?"

I stilled and looked to meet his eyes. "Troy is my home."

"Troy is your home." He repeated, again. Then, he bent to meet my eyes. "I will burn Troy."

"Or it will burn you," I responded without hesitation.

I saw the ice in his gaze, but I did not feel it directed towards me. He straightened and turned back towards his camp. "Come." I heard him say faintly. "Or die there." He gracefully made his way down, meandering through the stones. With the dance of a killer and the heart of a demon, this man made his way down to his stronghold. I sighed bitterly at the irony: my hope lay in the hopeless.

I lifted my dress and looked to place my foot on a smooth stone. As I made my way down, I knew that I was lost.


	3. Earthy Menthol and Musk

**Earthy Menthol and Musk**

"Give it here." A soldier yelled as his mate threw a large coil of rope to him. The camp bustled with activity and smoke, as tents were erected, fires started, and ships pulled to the shore. Beyond these dunes, I saw the opulence that was the tent of the high king. It stood sorely, a vision of red cloth and yellow banners lining the leather. His men led a queue of chained women, topless and tattered, off of the ships to the king's tent and the surrounding camp. Obviously, the girls were spoils of previous raids and battles, plucked one by one from their homes as the Greek fleet slinked savagely up the Aegean.

"Here," Eudorus said, leading me to an alcove by the rocks, "You won't be seen. Now, hurry." I thanked him, moved into the cove, and, promptly, relieved myself. I walked a little further to meet the sea, and I washed my hands and scrubbed the dried blood from around my ankles.

I had been visible within the camp for about an hour. The son of Peleus had left me in his dust prints; by the time that I returned to the main camp, I did not see him. By sheer grace from the gods, his soldier, the one called Eudorus, saw me in my confusion as I looked aimlessly about the camp.

"You must stay out of the way of these men if you wish no harm upon yourself," he had said as he approached me from behind a small tent, carrying water chests, "Here, sit near my tent. I have a pitcher of water and walnuts." I walked towards him, an anxious weight lifted off of my chest. "Thank you," I said as I sat on a low, woven bench. Having nothing else to do, I noticed a pile of dusty greaves and shields, and I offered to clean and shine the instruments.

He paused his work and looked at me dubiously, "A woman? Cleaning the bloodshed of a man's war? No woman should be privy to the horrors of war." No. Neither woman, child, nor man should ever face the heartbreak of war.

"It is gruesome." I agreed. I looked around at the sundry of men scattered across the beaches. I looked back at Eudorus. His oceanic eyes were staring straight at me, a mirror of my own eyes. "But, it is necessary," I added silently, knowing that he caught my mockery. He cleared his throat and pointed down by my bench. "There. Wax and oil. Do the best that you can and do not leave."

There I stayed polishing until Eudorus escorted me to the alcove. We walked back to the camp as the men finished their unloading.

"Achilles will be breaking words with King Agamemnon," Eudorus started, "He has not mentioned anything about…" The cries of a woman interrupted his speech, and we looked to the entrance of Achilles' tent to see the priestess, Briseis, being pulled forward by two soldiers. They did not have the insignia or color of Achilles' men. Eudorus immediately leaped to combat, the sand spraying my feet as he lurched towards the soldiers. His sword sat by his tent where I had polished it, and he had no other weapons save for his hands. I ran to the nearest Myrmidon that I spotted, uttering no sound but pointing frantically at the commotion. He, in turn, slung his sword around his waist and properly alerted the camp in a voice deep and heavy with command. I stood at my spot as a bevy of dark soldiers ran to aid Eudorus. The man, himself, held fastidiously against the two combatants. Briseis lay limply to the side of the melee as the fist of Eudorus connected soundly to the jaw of the shorter stranger. The taller of the two reached for his sword and looked to slash Eudorus from behind. The sword sliced down and clanged sharply with the sword of the man whom I had alerted. He deflected the stranger's sword, and, as the faster of the two, his sword swung to the side to cleanly decapitate the taller stranger.

The face of the shorter man shone wetly with blood from Eudorus' blows. By this time, a horde of Myrmidons had gathered, and I could no longer see the fight. I figured that the second man was finished, but the strategies of war were not within my domain. I heard the hum of Eudorus' voice as he mandated orders. The crowd cleared except for Eudorus and the soldier who had saved him, and I saw the wounded man being led away by two other Myrmidons. I ambled towards Eudorus whose eyes shone like silver beacons through the blood of his opponent, making for a rather surreal sight. The other Myrmidon was untouched. They grasped arms and rumbled in victory.

"Entering the tent of Achilles? They did not come for war. They came for a guaranteed audience with the boatman." Laughed the Myrmidon. Wiping the sweat from under his nose, he glanced at me as I knelt down to Briseis, then he looked back to Eudorus. "That little one saved you." I looked away and pulled the priestess up to a sitting position. She did not look seriously injured, but she looked faint. There was a trace of blood on her hairline where the two soldiers had pulled her hair, and her bottom lip was split.

"Is she injured?" Eudorus asked.

"My lady," I murmured, "have you hurt anywhere?" She looked puzzled but shook her head. Her hand came up to cup the side of her face, and I knew that she had been struck several times.

Eudorus knelt down next to me. "Stay in the tent with her." He nodded towards the other Myrmidon. "Linos will bring rags and salves." He stood up as he wiped his arm along his brow. "Do not leave this tent."

"And scream, little one, if anybody enters," Linos stated. "I cannot save a silent victim." I dipped my head and stood to help Briseis, taking her arm and wrapping my own around her waist. Before we turned to enter the tent, Eudorus stopped me with a hand. "Are you alright?" He asked. "I am alright," I answered softly. He nodded, then gestured towards the leather flaps and ushered us into Achilles' tent.

* * *

"I have seen a face like yours before." Briseis said. "I cannot recall." I wrung the brown rag and watched as the water flowed between my fingers. I used the rag to gently clean the line of blood from her hairline.

"I visited the palace with my father several times when I was younger," I told her, "I played _Temples and Stones_ with you when I visited."

"Your father was a luminary?" She asked. "No." I answered.

I lowered the damp cloth, removed the tin lid of the salve container, and lightly smeared a coating onto her hairline. The tent was instantly filled with the smell of earthy menthol and musk.

"My father brought fish and smoke leaves to the palace festivals." I smoothed out the coating and smiled slightly in my nostalgia. "I always carried the leaves, and they would always block my vision." I moved back to model the difference. "I was this tall, only eight summers," I said, with my hand poised at a low height, "and the leaves were always this high." My hand moved a handspan higher. "You were in the lower markets with your mother, I believe, and I met you near the display of _melia_ and saffron powder."

She searched hard into my face, trying to recall the memory. "I apologize. I do not remember you."

I nodded understandingly as I stood to pour the used water out by the entrance of the tent. "It was a long time ago." I conceded.

Briseis shifted slightly to ease her position. "You were the voice calling my name."

"Yes." I pointed behind her to the hole that I had punctured in the tent. "I sought shelter behind this tent when the Greeks approached." I sat back fully onto the dark furs. "In truth, I now realize how foolish a plan it was calling for you."

"Thank you for trying." She said as we both looked awkwardly around the dark tent. "But we are still here."

"Yes."

Another lengthy pause.

"How did you enter the fora if your father was a fisherman? The palace procurers work on the streets by the citadel."

I cleared my throat and sat back down, across from her. "I worked during the festivals, seven of them each year. My father allowed me. I delivered the smoke leaves to the palace directly, instead of dealing with the buyers. Afterward, I stayed to serve wine and water. I was paid two silver coins."

"You sometimes came down to dance," I continued, "then, we would play once the amphora I held went dry. But…I do not think that you would remember." She slowly nodded.

Another lengthy pause.

I studied the various items around Achilles' tent. His tent was significantly bigger than what I had seen from the outside. It was also significantly menacing. A beautiful shell bracelet caught my eye from the opposite side of the tent. I could not see it very well, but its shine and luster caught my eye. Surely, a base man like Achilles found no significance in the bauble.

It was then that I remembered. I looked to Briseis, pulled up the long sleeve of my dress, and stretched my arm to show her the green bracelet that was wrapped around my wrist. "You gave this to me at our last meeting." The bracelet was severely worn. The three green beads had taken on an ashen hue where the paint had chipped. The soft leather that held the beads had been torn years ago, so I had to tie the three beads with the excess twine that I used to strengthen my fishing baskets.

"I remember those beads." She said as she picked up my arm to study them. "I thought Paris hurled them over my veranda." She chuckled slightly.

I smiled back at her as I pulled my arm to myself. "It is the finest thing that I own."

The flaps of the tent were abruptly pushed aside as Achilles walked inside. Immediately, the space seemed to cower in his presence. He had attired himself in a different garb from the one that he wore on the rocks. His hair was twisted masterfully and shone like gold in the dim room. He resembled the Titans that my mother once told me about. Except, he was not grotesque nor repugnant. In fact, he was the most beautiful man that I had ever seen, and he would crush all that I held dear, masterfully and totally.

"Are you hurt?" His voice deeply filled the room as I realized that I did not know who he was referring to.

I glanced at Briseis, who refused to meet his eye, and offered, "She is not injured. Only surprised."

Achilles unpinned his cloak, tossed it onto the white furs, and walked towards Briseis and I. He crouched and reached to survey the injuries on her face. She promptly slapped his hand away and shot a hard glare towards him. I sat awkwardly in my spot as they shared that moment. I lowered my eyes and met the taut muscles of his legs and the golden hair sprinkled upon them. He was easily twice my size, this monster. Yet, in my mind, I knew that I saw him less and less like a monster. This observation frightened me most of all.

"You will speak for no one but yourself," his voice pulled me from my musings, "Her tongue is not cut. She can speak." I instantly felt my face grow warm.

"I…"

He silenced me. "I asked if you were hurt."

"No," I mumbled.

"Have you eaten?"

"Yes."

He tossed one glance at Briseis, stood, and looked directly at me while pointing at the hole in his tent. "You have a story to tell me. I expect it when I return."

The flaps opened once more to reveal Eudorus. "My lord," he said, "the man is at his end. We have finished with his interrogation."

Achilles nodded and thanked his commander. "A moment."

Eudorus acquiesced, bowed, and left the entrance. Achilles rinsed his hands and took a long swig of wine from a skin by his side. He did not make any small talk with Briseis nor me as he walked purposefully around his tent. I was not sure of his doings for I had lowered my eyes to my hands. I looked up once more to see him crouched between us. In his hand, he grasped a platter chocked full of barley bread, cabbage and lentils drizzled with oil, cheese of goats, and a wooden bowl full of dried pork and greens. He set the tray between us and rose.

"You will not survive on water and nuts, girl." He said to me. "Do not think me foolish in my own camp."

He turned to Briseis, "Eat. You are too important to die." With that, he exited the tent. Briseis and I were hesitant at first, but not a moment passed before we ravaged the food; Hunger, indeed, is a very powerful master.

We were startled when Eudorus reentered the tent. He glanced briefly at us before he stooped to retrieve Achilles' sword. Minutes after he was gone, we heard the wails and screams of the dying man as Achilles sent his soul to the Underworld.


	4. Phrygia

**Phrygia **

I wiped my brow and shook the sand from my hands. I looked once more behind me to see Nikias lying next to his daughter, Melitta. Achilles had granted me leave to seek the bodies of my friends. His man, Linos, sat yards away from me, trusted to my watch. He sat on the sand with his head propped on a tent behind him and his sword to his side; he looked to be asleep, but I felt his eyes stealthily following every move that I made. I found Nikias and his daughter slaughtered on the dunes, clutched together in their last moments. It had taken me some time, but I managed to move their bodies closer to the sea. Nikias was a small man of fifty summers, lost in his awe of Troy and loyal to the city. Melitta had given life to a son, a few moons prior. Since his birth, this morning was the only morning that she did not bring him along to fish. He remained safely in Troy while his mother lost her life to the Greeks. I went back up to the dunes to find Maia. The weight of my sorrow had not affected me until I saw the broken body of little Maia, alone and abandoned on the sands. I ran to her and bundled her into me. Only eight, she was only eight. My tears fell continuously onto her beautiful hair as I rocked her through my grief. I should have died with her. I should have never left her to die alone. She was too noble and too good to leave this world in such a callous manner. I rose with her in my arms, and, tentatively, walked down the slope. Reaching the bodies of Melitta and Nikias, I laid little Maia down. Nikias wore a large, white cloth around his robe, trimmed with gold and stained now with his blood. I smiled softly as I recalled how he would always were the finest robes that he owned, no matter the occasion and no matter the setting.

I removed his cloth, stretched it fully into its square shape, and draped it over the three bodies. The flame of the torch that I had brought was sputtering in the wind and I knew that I could not prolong this ritual. I had no prayers to give. The pain in my throat prevented the saying of any prayer. Instead, each tear that I shed, as I looked down at those that held my heart, was a dedication to the love and life that they gave me. I bent slightly to pick up the torch, and I was taken aback by the trembling of my own hand. It was a tremble so vigorous that the cloth would not catch on fire. I stopped momentarily and breathed deeply. I was not shocked when I saw a large hand wrap itself around my own and guide the torch steadily and quickly to the corner of the white cloth.

I knew who he was. I did not care. Instead, I slowly pried my hand from under his and walked around the pyre, closer to the sea. I sat with my back to the heat and looked up to the orange clouds. It was fitting. The bloody sky honored the carnage that graced Troy this day. The warmth upon my back, I felt, mirrored the ire of the gods. The gods, so respected and esteemed, were so cruel and playful with the sole lives that we held. I was weary of their malice.

And so I sat until the cloak of night covered the butchery of day.

* * *

"Who delivered the terms?"

"Aegon and Castor the lesser. No conflicts abounded." Eudorus answered. I rested on the floor of the tent, my eyes closed and my ears opened, as Achilles discussed his plan with Eudorus. Briseis was asleep beside me.

Achilles sat on his bedding; his forehead wrinkled in thought. Eudorus sat on the leather bench on the opposite side of the tent. I knew that they were both hesitant about the idea. I could hear the doubt in their voices.

Achilles and his men crafted the idea on the night that I burned my friends. Briseis was to be returned to Troy in exchange for thirty, Sardis-steel chests full of gold and silver. Achilles was taking a mighty chance, in doing this. Although he was seeking retribution for the attack made on his tent and Briseis, the weight of a Greek negotiating with the Trojans and possibly infiltrating security forces was too scandalous for even the likes of Agamemnon. Achilles could betray the high king, but he would never betray his Greek brothers. Reputation was nothing to him, but others would have a different perspective of him if he continued to fight with the Greek army after the exchange. Sardis steel was unheard of in mainland Greece and the procurement of this rarity would make Achilles and his men richer than the high king himself. However, in all, it was a precarious situation.

"Go, Eudorus. We'll discuss more at first light." The commander stood to leave, but I heard him say, "What about her?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Achilles shrug his shoulders, "What about her?" He responded. There was a slight pause; then Eudorus left the tent.

Achilles stood and walked towards me to collect the amphora of wine near my head. His movements stirred the furs, and I, reluctantly, sneezed violently. "You are not the slyest of sleuths." He said to me.

I had a feeling that he knew that I was not asleep, all through his conversation with Eudorus. I slowly rose as I met his face, one decorated with a stern look around his eyes. He offered his hand and I took it to rise. He did not release my hand once I stood, instead, he led me towards the entrance and out. He did not release my hand once we were out, instead, he led me towards the sea.

"Briseis…" I started, but he silenced me. "My tent is watched. She is safe."

The Myrmidon camp was silent in the darkness. The coals of the pits burned lowly and faintly, and showed the outlines of Achilles' watchmen. Achilles, in front of me, blended in with the obscure night. He wore a long, black chiton fastened at one shoulder and a black, chlamys cloak to warm against the night chill. He stood head and shoulders above me as he led me wherever he led me. The only feature betraying his camouflage was his golden hair. He looked back to me, feeling some resistance, and realized that I was struggling with his massive gait. He slowed down, but he continued. We walked down the coast, past his camp, past an audience of rogue soldiers seated around their fire, past various men of various regions under various Greek kings. We rounded upon the tent of the high king himself, and I balked at the sheer use of unnecessary opulence. Achilles sighed with satisfaction, then turned to take me back to the Myrmidon camp.

My feet could take it no longer. "Have you lost your wits, tonight?" The words slipped out faster than my head realized. He looked back at me and chuckled, deeply and quietly. I muttered a small apology.

"This is your tour of Greece that has arrived here at your shores." He said, the words playing on his lips. "I have introduced you. Now, you introduce me to the stranger that I have harbored." We walked down to his camp and he led me down a sandy hill, the highest that he could find, by the waters.

I looked out behind me to see the eyes of Greeks, familiar and strange, staring intently at me and Achilles. I wished that it did not affect me, but the stark disparity between Achilles and me, in terms of magnificence and command, was bitterly evident. Here I sat, a vision of dark hair and brown rags, and there he stood, a vision of the gods blessed with the rugged style of a killer and further crowned with a handsomeness unknown to humanity. I was so ashamed of these observations. I was betraying my own heart.

He sat beside me at the bottom of the slope, not too close, for his grandeur took precedence. He exhaled deeply and gestured to the sky, "We have the night, Ismene." My name seemed so foreign to me as he spoke it. "As I have said, my patience runs thin with silent girls." He had a very annoying habit of staring sharply, I came to notice.

"I am not powerful enough to remain mute," I said. "Neither can my blood allow it." He smirked at this.

"No. It cannot."

I dug my fingers into the sand and watched the grains spill randomly. "I am of Phrygia. My mother and father were both from the east. I am not a princess or a noblewoman or a king's favorite mistress. I am a fisherman's daughter, and nothing more." I looked at him, squarely. "I tell you this, Achilles, because I have nothing to hide. I have no value to give. I have no return to be made. There is no family in Troy or Phrygia emptying their coffers of gold and silver for my safe return"

He did not say a word, but those cool blue eyes stared. Again, my hands found their way deep into the sand.

He broke, "Kings and princes have died with my command. I have bled those of the most royal families and the noblest lines." The sea wind stirred our robes. "Yet, here you are, Ismene of Phrygia, daughter of a fisher, under the tent of Achilles. My rations can be put to better use. Look around you, this is a war."

I could not prevent the edge in my tone. "Will I also bleed?"

"I do not kill girls."

"You will sell me, then?"

"Do you wish it?" It was not a novel idea because I knew that I would take the chance. I knew that he could see the battle of emotions playing across my face. I knew that he took pleasure in my pain. He continued, "I have seen women drown themselves in victory than bed an opposing soldier. Girls proudly slit their wrists before their captors can claim them. Yet, you would choose to go willingly. You would rather torture yourself."

"No." I curtly stopped him. "I have too much to do in this life. I am not you. My life is not my death. My life is my life, and my death is my death. Sell me, if you wish."

He read deeply into my eyes and he discovered it. "Who waits for you in Troy? In Phrygia?"

My eyes grew cloudy with tears, and my face grew hot. The sea wind stirred my hair. "My life is not solely my own," I answered softly. "I cannot die. Give me a fate worse than death, but I cannot die."

Moments passed. Dark waves crashed.

I noticed the forgotten jug of wine by his side as he turned to pour a cup. He stretched it out towards me, muttering, "It will keep you warm." I took the cup and tasted the bitter wine. We sat there, thoughtless. He moved to remove his cloak for my protection, but I objected. Characteristically, he did not bat an eye towards me. The cloak was wrapped around me and the heady smell of the warrior enveloped me.

"Do you know why I walked you down this beach?" He asked, breaking me from my thoughts. His tour was a comical guise.

"Six men," he started, "from every king's camp are posted as guards throughout the night. Tonight, they saw Achilles with his woman." My eyes widened slightly in misunderstanding.

He continued, "Achilles held her hand, laughed with her, filled her with wine, and," he added as he looked me over, "took her upon the sands. Her robes, so tattered and disheveled, were covered by his cloak." He smirked slightly. "An evidence noted as they returned to his tent."

I could not help the smile on my lips. He smiled, as well. The first true time that I had seen him do so.

"Men gossip more voraciously than women, Ismene. By the morning light, you will be untouchable." He looked evenly at me, "I am giving you this protection for as long as you stay with me. If you choose to be sold to a merchant in the surrounding villages, tell me and it will be done. That is as close as I can deliver you to Troy."

My heart was beating faster than I could have ever imagined. I was so terrified of this hope that he offered, a hope that was quite difficult to find. I was so terrified of this trust, but it was all that I had.

He guzzled down the remainder of the wine and stood. He offered his hand, and I took it to rise. He did not release my hand once I stood. Instead, he led me towards his camp as the sea wind blew ferociously over the sands of the Greeks.


	5. For Achilles I

**For Achilles**

_Omniscient Narration_

_There are many things that lie heavily on the mind of a warrior, killer…call him what you may._

_There are much more things that are embedded deeply in the mind, the spirit, and the heart of the killer…call him nothing short of blazing glory._

_The fury of the sun glowed deeply within this man, tempered only by his iron will. All of his life, he had unleashed this lion upon countless lessers condemned to die. Kings and rulers, commanders and men, all clamored to taste the fragrance of death that permeated through every fiber of his being and every crevice of his soul. Kings and rulers, commanders and men, all clamored to see his dance of death and the last dance of life sought aimlessly by those destroyed by him._

_King and rulers, commanders and men, all fought, through blood and sweat, to master the untouchable, Achilles. Son of death._

_He fought to feel. He killed to kiss the bitter lips of a power that was not his own and completely of him. Control was his wife, precision, his mistress, and rage, his burning love. He was Achilles, an instrument of war, of politics. Achilles, a vessel of perfection and strength. He was an untouchable creature with no space for the humanity of mortals. A god among men, he would live forever in his glory. He was Achilles, and his likes would never grace the world again._

_He gulped down the wine as his eyes focused on the object of his interest. His eyes, so deadly and clear, shone with the novelty and fury of the first blue. The sun in its light was tempered by the blue of its moon._

_Her hair blew around her as she polished the helmet and sword of Eudorus. Her favorite Greek, apparently, Achilles pondered._

_She sat by the foam of the sea as that itself blended seamlessly with the pale sky above her. In her, Achilles found something unidentifiable. She was the mystic of the east, so coy yet open. His eyes traveled down her back to the curves of her hips. She was clad in something other than the brown robes of her capture. Yes. The black dye of the Myrmidons and the supple silk of femininity._

_He watched her arm moved languorously over the metal of the armor. The froth of the sea skirted around her figure, and she turned to toss the metal before the saltwater tarnished her work._

_In her movement, the chilling gray eyes of Phrygia locked beautifully with those of the mighty Achilles. Neither moved. Until, he swept his eyes down and up, up and down. Her golden skin grew warm under his stare. She captured his curiosity like no other. He'd had servant girls, milkmaids, concubines, daughters, princesses, and queens. He'd had them all. But, here, this girl of no means intrigued him most of all. Captured, almost amusingly, she progressed and moved languidly with no protests and no troubles. With her head held higher and humbly than most, she took charge of the surroundings that were not hers to take. She was not his captive; she was far too deep in her head and heart to ever let him take control of her. Who was she to take this incentive? The girl of a fisherman._

_Her actions were deeply foreign. She smiled and laughed proudly in the faces of those sent to kill her. Sure, he caught her in moments of rare sentimentality and mourn, but she quickly wiped this mask. She was smarter than she seemed. A dangerous treat._

_He drank._

_Who did she keep in Troy?_

_His stare had not wavered once. He watched as she picked up the shield and helmet, hiding her struggle with the weight. She placed them by the entrance of Eudorus' tent, smiling at the commander inside. Achilles pierced her eyes squarely as she turned towards him and his tent. Her hair swung behind her, framing a face of such heavy beauty. He felt a pinch of satisfaction as she lowered her eyes slightly, overcome by the magnetism of his eyes._

_He downed the contents of his goblet as he smiled at his own folly._

_Like all things and all people, he mastered them all. It would not be long before this girl fell into the guile that he had commanded for many years._

_He was Achilles. He was beyond their control._

_Yet, as he watched her grow closer, her hips swinging innocently, her lips pursing and moving in her shyness, he decided to shrink from himself, for once in his life. He would define this girl, steeped in the veiled mystery and essence of Phrygia, in his own terms and in the only way he knew how, the only way unique to Achilles._


	6. Lavender

**Lavender**

"You almost seem content here." I heard Briseis through the trickling of water down my hair. We were bathing along the banks of the river Scamander. Achilles and his men had scouted the lower lands in Ilion's vicinity and the villages along Hellespont. Most of the towns surrounding the walled city had long since been abandoned in the commotion of the Achaean invasion. In turn, the abandoned provisions in these villages were sourced by the Myrmidons. In fact, they were transporting bundles of wheat, barley, and cloth as Briseis and I swam in the waters of the river. Eudorus and Linos were upstream gathering vessels of fresh water for the camp.

Briseis and I were amply shielded from the eyes of men, behind long stalks of river reeds. Along the river, there were many girls and women also bathing, cleaning, and washing. It was early morning, and the sun had yet to rise. The lot of us, spoils in this game of death, maintained our ritual of womanliness in the cool light of dawn.

My head hung heavy as the water sunk my hair past my hips. I squeezed out most of the water, brought the hair to my shoulder, and braided its weight in the way that my mother had taught me. A woman by the river, of Lydian heritage from her accent, shared her oils of olive and lavender with the pair of us. Lavender was very popular in Phrygia, and the scent moved me back to my birthplace.

"My lady," I said, "war can never bring contentment." She turned to me, looking beyond as if she could see Achilles and his men.

"You speak so freely with them, the tyrants." I could hear the trace of disdain in her voice, one not solely directed on the Greeks. "They killed innocent priests."

"Our lives have been spared," I told her, "we are well with food and shelter. We must stay strong."

"I owe these brutes nothing. I'd rather die a hundred deaths than wallow in their presence." She looked straight at me. "Hector will finish them all." Minutes passed as we finished our cleaning in the rising sun.

"You have pretty hair." I was slightly surprised at Briseis' voice, and even more at her compliment. She reached out to inspect the thick braid hanging over my shoulder, covering my breast. Five sections, intricately intertwined and woven, constituted the plait.

I smiled, "Thank you, my la-"

She turned suddenly and tossed her hair behind her back. "Can you braid mine like it?" I slowly obliged and gathered her hair between my fingers. I was not insulted by her actions, only reaffirmed. Her life had always been one of privilege and indulgence. Even as children, we both knew our respective stations in life. I did not envy her jewels and beautiful gowns, and she did not envy me in the slightest. For all of our differences, she always maintained the nicest disposition. To me, she had been the best of my friends and the sweetest companion. We were simply in different circumstances and within different perspectives.

I finished and pointed to the dresses by the river, castaways from the village raids. Briseis chose the first, a dark blue creation of beautiful material. Open and scanty, it lacked the modesty of her robes. The second, a pale pink, mimicked the first in style, though it was a lesser softness. I was soon to find out, as I garbed myself, that it was created for a woman of bigger proportions. I was completely swamped in cloth. Briseis circled the ribbon straps multiple times around my waist as we laughed in the futility of the gown. I bent to tie the train into a large knot, looked up at Briseis, and sighed at the silliness. I gathered our clothing and soaps in a basket, and we trekked down to meet the soldiers.

The majority of the Myrmidons had returned to the camp by the time that we had finished. Briseis and I walked back in silence along with the few that were left. The camp was only one of few bustling with activity in these early hours. Men were quietly commanding orders, shields and spears and helmets moved swiftly back and forth between the men, and, a worrisome sight, the Myrmidons were fully armored and outfitted with their swords.

"My lady, come with me." The voice of Eudorus startled us as he approached from behind. He sounded terse and determined.

In a moment, Briseis' arm was grasped, albeit gently, and she was escorted towards Achilles' tent. The man, himself, was exiting his tent. His armor shone, gold and bright, in the dim morning. I was confused in the ridiculous pace of their workings. All of the men moved, resolutely and untiring, to their work and their postings. I exhaled loudly and moved towards Achilles' tent. As I rounded upon the tent, I heard the neigh of a horse tethered nearby. I realized it then.

The basket fell from my hands as I ran to the sound. There, I saw Briseis stepping onto the platform of the horse's chariot and Achilles fastening the leather straps. She was going home.

"Briseis…" I called out. She stepped off the dais and came towards me, her eyes misty with water. She knew it as I knew it, and the force of this separation was too much to bear. We grabbed each other in the last embrace that we would share. Small sobs rocked me as she attempted to quiet my cries.

"Please," I whispered in her ear, "There…there is a little boy, a baby, near the outskirts of the citadel, in the servant halls…along the Scaean gate."

I felt a hand attempt to pry my arms away from her.

"He has nothing…nothing. My brother is with him…he cannot care…he is crippled with disease…please, see them safe." She seemed to nod, seemed to understand.

Achilles' deep voice boomed above me. "Take hold of her." I felt an arm snake its way around my waist and pull. I was so lost in my desperation. She was truly the only hope that I had, the only hope that they had.

"I am begging you!" I spat. "They are all that I have left! Please!"

My heart sunk deep into my belly as Briseis, herself, unlinked my hand from hers and moved to the chariot. The whip was cracked, and I watched as she, Achilles, and a multitude of his soldiers sped away to the golden city. I was left, a crumbled heap. The one thing that remained with me was the intense gaze of Achilles as he looked resolutely at me through my sorrow, even as he rode away.

The camp worked on, without disturbance.

Time trekked on, without disturbance, and I remained rooted to the sand and to my emptiness.

"I apologize." I recognized that voice instantly and the weight of my situation shattered my soul. I looked up to meet the unwavering face of Achilles' cousin, Patroclus, staring sharply at his cousin's retreating figure. I saw his sympathy and his pity. I saw my own misery reflected in his eyes. I knew that his act of contrition covered much more than this event. He offered his hand and I took it in acceptance. Loneliness, of this form, tasted strange and menacing. In Briseis, I had a partner in the jaws of war. Now, I was stripped, to be swallowed whole into a gullet of fear and trepidation.

I entered the tent of Achilles and settled into the furs in a recess. I knew that she would be going, but the sudden nature of it unhinged me drastically. I had no anger to direct, only a deep blankness. Fear gripped me harder than I realized, and I knew why. I was not scared of the men; I was not scared of the high king. Not even death caused me to tremble. The fear in my belly was the realization that I had no other facet to turn to. I had no idea as to how I could return to Troy.

Achilles held me now, wholly and undeniably. I was terrified that this man would uproot me from all that I held dear. He alone could displace me so. I looked about his tent and calmly took in the dark threat of him. He alone could take me from myself.

Of all, I was terrified that I would let him.

* * *

_Clang._

I awoke to the ringing sound of a metal chest being stacked upon another. Eudorus and his men filled the tent as they unloaded four, large chests onto the sand. The chests were wondrous to behold. They were etched with dramatic flares of the sun and the moon, Apollo and Artemis. The flickers of the setting sun illuminated the steel like gold. The men did not see me as they talked around the treasure. I was firmly fixed and I made no sound.

_Clang._

I was glad that they overlooked me because I could not take the menacing image that was presented before me. Each one of them was drenched in blood and sweat and grime. The swords by their sides were slick with red, which ran in rivulets down their legs and calves. Even Eudorus looked as manic and gruesome as the Titans of my mother's lore.

The Myrmidons had returned to war.

Then, he entered. Achilles. He looked the embodiment of Ares, only fiercer. He, as well, was dripping with blood. The yellow of his hair was lost in the red and brown of blood and dirt. He stood taller and mightier than his comrades, stretching his presence within the room. His body, flexed and hard with sinews, betrayed the fatal calm of his face. He carried the last of the steel chests and easily held its weight as he balanced it on top of the rest. I could not help but gasp as the monster that I had feared returned with robustness in front of me.

With that sound, they all turned to me. I cringed in my embarrassment as my face blazed hot. The room was thick with tension.

"I…" I began as I tried to explain, but Linos, bless him, saved me the shame.

"We will see the rest to the ships." He said to Achilles, who, in turn, nodded his approval.

"My lord." Linos nodded in departure, and the rest followed, almost sheepishly. "You said it was one of his cloaks." One of the men muttered quietly as the group left.

Achilles tried to shield his smile as he moved around the tent. He sat on a bench near the entrance and began to remove his armor. We did not exchange words as he unstrapped the greaves around his lower legs and removed his sandals. I watched as he flexed his fingers and stretched out the trunks of his legs. He sighed deeply and grasped a pitcher of water by his side. Tilting his head forward, he poured the water through his hair and around his neck, exhaling at the relief.

"I can help." As always, my mouth moved before my head could process. All I saw was a man, weary of the day's battle and itching for the comfort of relief. I caught a soft glint in his eyes, and I knew that I could not take back my offer. He nodded and beckoned me towards him.

I stood slowly and reached for the wooden bowl and rag that I once used for Briseis. As I made my way to him, my right foot caught on my foolish mess of a dress. Before my knees touched the floor, I felt Achilles' hands on my upper arms as he straightened my figure and pulled me to him. I looked up to see his eyes devoid of any mockery or humor, only consideration.

I cleared my throat and reached for the pitcher near him. I kneeled beside him as I began to scrub the grime and blood off of his limbs.

"Briseis was returned safely?" I asked in an attempt to break the silence.

"Yes." His eyes gestured to the chests behind me. "We returned her before the day's battle." I continued cleaning as our quietness grew.

I brought the rag to the water in the bowl, and it bubbled red with blood. "This morning…" I started. "I did not mean to…I was only overcome by my emotion…I did not mean to offend your offer."

"You offend nothing," he stated calmly. "I understand the ways of women. You share a long bond with her. _Temples and stones_, was it?"

I paused my work, gasping, "You overheard us. You spied on us." How else could he have known?

He chuckled softly. "You underestimate the silence of soldiers and overestimate the silence of chattering women. Prince Hector in Troy would have heard you."

I sighed, a bit annoyed. "You do not understand."

"I do not," he said as he looked at me in all seriousness. "I do not understand your groveling attempts to befriend a person who cares so little for you."

"You do not know her."

He laughed. "No, naïve girl. _You_ do not know her. I watched as she was enveloped in the jewels and silks of her royal cousins as they led her back into Troy, on a golden chariot. _A golden chariot! _Do you think she remembered Ismene?"

I stood to pour the dirty water out by the entrance. The atmosphere in the tent had changed immensely. "There is not enough water for you to clean." I murmured softly.

He removed his cuirass and guards, and remained clad in his leather skirt. I remained at the entrance to take in the air and sunset, but I knew that his current appearance kept me by the flaps. He was right. I'd known it all along, but I stubbornly held on to that optimism. The fate of my family in Troy became even more precarious as I accepted the fact that I had nobody within the city to care for them. I turned back to Achilles, who had found another water chest and was roughly scrubbing away at his skin, and kneeled by him.

"Sell me," I said clearly. "To a village that fights for Troy. East of the city. Troy's supplies cannot last forever. They will need food and goods eventually. They will have to open the palisades."

He stopped and looked at me evenly. "I did not come here to fight for Troy. Besides, none of the villages are safe. Not now, at least."

"You promised me." My voice rose higher. "On the sands."

"I will not send you to die in such a foolish manner." He dropped the rag into the bowl and turned fully to me; his voice was dangerously low. "This is a war, Ismene. I am not a courier or a messenger. I am here to kill. I will kill every Trojan soldier that I come across, and your Troy will fall along with everyone in it."

"Then, let me fall with those that I love."

"No."

"Why?"

His hand came up to feel the curls that framed the side of my face. My heart stilled as his fingers lightly traveled along my cheek. His eyes shone in the light of the red sun as he looked at me. "I ask myself the same." He said.

He stood and walked across the tent to retrieve an article of clothing. Then, he quickly lit the two lamps in the tent. I took his place on the bench and watched as he exited with a quick glance thrown down at me.

* * *

"He knew you had not eaten. It is quite obvious." Eudorus said as he lay the platter of food and wine where I had dozed off in the furs. The moonlight streamed in behind him. He was clean of grime and freshly clothed as he looked amusingly at my sleeping form. I thanked him and moved to eat. Eudorus followed my vision as I saw an arrangement of clothing spread across Achilles' bed. A long chiton of soft purple caught my eye.

"They are for you," he said, "Achilles had the women in Ajax's camp sew them." He smiled slightly. "I never knew that he had a flair for female, garment fabrics and style."

I was at a complete loss for words.

"Eat." He said as he rose to leave. "He will be in shortly."


	7. Appearances

**Appearances**

The brother of the high king had been killed by Hector.

"Rightfully so." Achilles said dispassionately as we ate the barley bread of the morning. It was early and it was raining heavily. The rain had caused a cease to the day's fight, but the morale of the Greeks needed the rest. Agamemnon had ordered the proper twelve days for the funeral games and rites. Outside, I could hear the faint cheers of the men wrestling and sparring. Later, the men would partake in chariot races and discus throwing. In the name of the deceased Menelaus, the Greeks celebrated his life and theirs in the clammy weather. Achilles and his Myrmidons did not participate.

"Are you not scared to raise the ire of King Agamemnon?" I asked softly and cautiously as I looked at him, across from me. "You insult his brother's rites."

He yawned, his eyes twinkling, "No."

"What about the treasure from Troy?" I said pointing to the corner. "Those chests have remained here for six moons now. Do you fear he will take them?"

His eyes danced across my face, unperceivable. "No."

I could not help myself as I followed the teasing nature of his features and voice. I put aside my soup and sat back fully on my bottom, pulling my knees to me. The rain was beating heavily on the leather of the tent. The flaps of the tent moved and stirred with the wind and the occasional gales.

I had found Achilles' weakness. He looked almost forlorn without his sword in his hands. He craved war and battle. Every day past, he had returned to the tent, slick and tired with exhaustion. But, as he wiped away the blood of his opponents, I could see the glint of satisfaction etched across his face. Now, he sat in boredom, itching, humorously, for the taste of the battlefield. These twelve days would be his paralysis for nobody would face his ire.

He chased war, and war chased him, in a never-ending circle.

"What?" He said calmly, pulling me from my thoughts. I tried to shield my smile behind my knees, but he caught the humor in my eyes. "Tell me."

I cleared my throat and quickly turned to find another object of discussion, anything to liven his ennui. "That trinket," I said, pointing to the shell bracelet that had once caught my admiration, "it is beautiful. Is it from your home?"

He glanced at it. "It is from my home…Larisa."

I peaked at this, "Larisa…" I said, rolling the name on my tongue, "What is Larisa like?"

Smiling through his sigh, he stated, "You can go watch the men wrestle. You do not have to be stagnant in here with me." He stood up and walked towards the bracelet. "Save me the feigned interest." He concluded teasingly.

"I am confined in this camp. At least, in here, I can have a storyteller." I countered and watched him move in laughter. He collected the bracelet and returned to sit on his furs. "Come." He said quietly, signaling me towards him. I rose and sat, for the first time, on his bed. I remained appropriately distant.

"Do you see the texture on this one?" He started, gesturing to a particular shell. "Here, feel it."

I felt the ridges, ribs, and turns of that shell and the rest as Achilles guided me through each shell, each color, and each backstory. His mother, Thetis, had added a seashell for every distinct moment of his life: his birth, his first walk, his rites of manhood, his first fight, his first kill, and so on. He told me about his childhood in Larisa, his cousin, Patroclus, and his rise as a young man.

"But Larisa is not my home anymore. It has not been my home for a long, long time, Ismene." He gestured to the tent above us. "This is my home. Each and every tent, in each and every battle that I have fought." His eyes rolled in nonchalance. "My home lies here, and my home lies there."

I understood. Yet, I felt a wave of sympathy wash over me, for this man.

"They are all so beautiful." I said, looking up at him and holding up the bracelet. "Your history, told in such a beautiful manner."

I rose to return the bracelet to its chest, but turned in question. "This one…you did not mention anything about this one."

"This one," he said as he stood, taking my hand and running my fingers over a green-tinged shell, "marked the birth of my son."

I looked up to find him staring right back at me, clearly and daring.

* * *

_Twelve days later…_

All around, the Greek soldiers sharpened their swords and spearheads as war beckoned once more. The days of mourning had ended. I sat by Achilles' tent over a basket of fish and watched the Myrmidons spar and grapple in practice. Linos had been supplying me with fish for the past hour, and I laughed every time that I saw him trudging along to me, beaming with pride from his lone catch.

"He is practically festering, Achilles! Do you not see?" I removed the scales of the fourth fish as I heard Odysseus inside the tent with Achilles. My hand moved quickly with the knife as I slit the fish to remove its spine and entrails.

I looked up at the cloudy skies and wiped my nose of sweat. Odysseus, the King of Ithaca, had been chatting with Achilles for quite some time now. In fact, I had been sitting here since the sun rose.

"Let him," Achilles replied, "He has been doing so for his whole life."

I chuckled as I heard Odysseus sigh heavily. He too faced the impenetrable wall known as Achilles. "He will want at least half of the steel from Troy, _at least_ half."

"He will get _at most_ one chest. He deserves none of it."

"You see the implications of your actions Achilles, do you not? She was a royal prisoner, the cousin of Hector. Agamemnon could have taken Troy with the threat of her life. Would Hector watch the girl die before his eyes?"

"I came here to fight, and not to discuss politics. You and I both know that I could never give Agamemnon that advantage. What is done is done. She was captured by Myrmidons, not Greek sheep." I felt the slight insult laced within those words towards Odysseus.

"Peace, brother."

A few moments of silence passed by as the two calmed themselves. I saw Linos approach the tent again, carrying a single, fat fish. I sighed in mock exhaustion as he lay it by me. "More fish for you, little fish." He said smiling. "You are feeding men now."

I expertly set my knife to work in cleaning and cutting the fish. The scent, though strong, gave me a sense of normalcy. The feel, even, of the fish reminded me of times before and of little Maia. I lay the fish down in my melancholy and yearned for relief. I thought back to my brother in Troy, lonely and desperate with the son of Melitta. Attis was his name. My older and only brother. He lost his legs due to stiffness, as a child. In Troy, he worked as a street vendor, selling the fish that I caught and other vague baubles. I blinked back tears as I recalled how he would be avoided almost like a plague. Very few people chanced upon him, due to the stigma and his condition. I sighed and continued my work with the fish. Attis deserved none of the cruelness of this world.

"The girl you have with you…he knows." My work stopped completely as I heard Odysseus' words. "He will want her…for spite."

"Then, who will be your new high king?" Achilles stated lowly and matter-of-factly.

There was a pause, and then the flaps of the tent were pushed open as Odysseus walked out. He glanced at me, without emotion, and continued down to his own camp. Achilles followed behind.

He sat down near me and looked comically at my fishes. "That one still has its scales."

I turned slightly, the small knife dancing between my fingers. "The soldier instructing me on my profession?" I asked teasingly. "Shall I teach you how to properly wield a sword?"

"Teach me." I shook my head at this, smiling, and returned to my work. A quiet calm settled over us as we watched the practice of the Myrmidons.

"I heard your friend," I said as I looked at him earnestly.

He cocked his eyebrow and smirked slightly, "You spied on us?"

"I am serious," I said gently.

"As am I, Ismene." He looked at me and spoke, "I gave you my word. You will not be touched. Do not underestimate my command."

I looked down at my hands and paled at the amount of scales littered across them. I had scales and fish oil all over my arms and, to my embarrassment, I had scales on my chest. I put the fish and knife down and laughed timidly, "I must wash. I stink of fish." I murmured.

Achilles had been watching me like a hawk, his face undisturbed. He slowly reached up to my hair and removed a few scales from the curls. "You do not stink," he said softly, "You smell like my home."

* * *

Eudorus and I stood together as we watched the preparations of the funeral pyre. Menelaus was garbed in his armor, ready to greet his brothers of war along the Styx. All of the soldiers of Greece, except those infirmed, watched and listened as the hymns were sung and the rituals were performed. Menelaus' pyre stood high above the rest, which were dotted along the coastal sands. Achilles stood ahead of us, stern and mighty, in the black garb of the Myrmidons. Odysseus watched alongside him. For the first time, I saw the high king, Agamemnon, as he climbed the platform of his brother's pyre. He looked large and mighty, like I had always pictured him. I watched him place the boatman's coins atop his brother's eyes. His lips moved as he muttered his farewell. Then, thick flames engulfed the pyre.

The rest of the pyres burned brightly afterward.

Achilles turned to depart, before anyone else left. He saw me immediately and nodded to Eudorus. I looked back to the pyre and slowly pulled my shawl over my hair, draping the excess over my shoulder. I had no reason to, but I sent a quick prayer for the departed souls upon the night, souls lost to such triviality.

Agamemnon descended the platform with his counselors and chiefs, and the men around us also began to depart.

"Do not act surprised." Eudorus whispered to me as he moved away. I turned in confusion, but gasped slightly as I felt an arm circle my waist.

Achilles came into my vision then, tall before me. He pulled me closer to him and I grew warm as the stares of the Greek soldiers flew towards us. I felt his hand upon my lower back, and I felt his fingers strumming the skin under my dress. He bent to me, his scent overpowering my senses. His arm circled tighter around me, and I feared that I would lose my balance. "For appearances…" I heard him whisper to me. Then, I felt his lips brush over my forehead, soft and strong. My eyes had remained on his collarbone as he took possession of me, but a quick glance towards Agamemnon, and I knew Achilles' motive.

The high king stood transfixed as he watched Achilles and I. His face burned, with something unknown and deadly. I was caught in this dangerous exchange, frightened and shocked. Achilles released me now, and I watched him stare right back, with the same intensity, at Agamemnon. It was a challenge. I was his dare. The moment had lasted only a few seconds, but it seemed to stretch on between the burning eyes of the two.

Achilles looked down at me, smiling lazily. "Go inside." He said quietly. I pulled my veil closer and walked back to the Myrmidon camp, with Eudorus.

A flash of light startled me, and I heard the following rumble of thunder. I looked at the sea, and I saw the gray-black clouds gathering in threat. The wind blew furiously around my dress as I reached the entrance to Achilles' tent. I paused and looked back to see if I could spot the man.

He was nowhere to be seen.

I knew that I had to prepare for the coming storm as I clutched the veil tighter around my chest. I knew that I had to prepare for the tempest's wrath as I entered the tent of Achilles.


	8. Tempest

**Tempest**

His shadow was illuminated by the lightning as I sat low in wait. The rain fell furiously, pattering on the sand and drumming on the leather tent. He was moving now. Every flash saw him in a different position. I heard the hum of voices barely over the boom of the thunder and the torrent of rain. His hand came in through the flaps, dripping wet with water. He was talking, I did not know to whom.

I did not light the lamps. The tent remained dark and eerie, graced sharply with white lightning.

Then, I saw his feet. I did not look up to greet him nor did I utter a word. I had been within this camp for mere months, but already, his actions and movements were so familiar to me. He sauntered around, dripping wet, and I knew that he looked down upon me, questionably and inconspicuously. Where was my gratitude for his protection? Where was my beaming smile in awe of his daring nature and wit? His air of joviality had been abruptly removed when he caught sight of me. My eyes, fixed on the sand, turned away quickly as I caught the sight of his flesh.

His wet clothing fell onto the sand with a distinct squelch. White light blazed for a moment. Achilles crept towards me, boldly. I could not hear his footsteps, but I heard his breathing fall closer and closer. I pulled my face into my shoulder and looked firmly away. I could smell him. The damp rain and salt, a rich mix.

I felt his hair now, cold and wet on my right shoulder, as he bent. My chest rose and fell sharply at this. It was such a cold moment. He rose brusquely and turned, taking a pervious fabric with him to dry his body.

The crackling of thunder heightened the wink of time that had passed.

"Did I forget to bring your dinner?" He challenged causally, almost playfully. I did not even look his way. I heard him attire his nakedness. I heard his gulps of wine and his slow breathing. "Silent…she remains."

This mockery. His blatant disregard for anything other than himself enflamed my spirit. I was hoping that I could overlook this. Oh, I had prayed for the forbearance to withstand this. I did not want to quarrel with him; he held my life in his hands. But, my patience had its bounds. My quietude had its limits.

"You will not use me as you did this evening…again." I was not sure if he heard me. The crashing sounds outside enveloped my weak voice.

As always, he had heard. I could not see his face in the darkness. The moon, herself, had been swallowed by dark thunder and sparks. There was no illumination. However, I felt his presence. I felt his presence change from its cool, calm avatar to a deadly, challenging form.

"Ismene…" It was not my name. It was a taunt. It was his warning.

I ventured to face this warning. As I stood, lightning pierced the room and I saw Achilles in a state that he had never allowed himself to show around me. Achilles, the man who joked with me and laughed with me and taught me many things, was not standing here with me. Instead, I saw the warlord arm himself, mentally. His jaw clenched as he caught me in the light, and he returned to darkness.

Thunder crashed.

"I am grateful for your kindness." I breathed. "I understand that you must take precautions," I reached uncertainly and found his hand, large and warm in mine, "but, please, do not make me something that I am not, in this war."

The drumming of rain filled the room. "I protect you, Ismene. I offered and you accepted." Another flash revealed his eyes looking down at me, dark and unreadable. He jerked his hand from my grasp, and I felt it return to my upper arm, pulling me closer to him. "I will do so at all costs. Do not question me, not about this." His voice rose higher as if in incredulity. Who was I to question his actions?

"No," I asserted, stronger than I intended with a voice heavier than I intended, "I must demand this. My life is not yours to wager. Agamemnon is a powerful man." His grip tightened slightly and I felt his head lower down to me, in the darkness.

"Go to him, then. Seek his hand over your life." I saw his eyes blue in anger, and, unexpectedly, a stronger emotion. One akin to betrayal, it felt.

"You kissed me under his gaze. Before that moment, I was invisible to him. I was nothing. Now, you have given him a cause to find me visible."

"I must!" He bellowed. "I must! Do you not witness the sight of women being taken where they stand? Tell me, Ismene! You walk freely along these sands. No man has touched you. You bathe in nakedness in the Scamander. No man has touched you! You are free in my name!"

"Yet, I will be trapped in this sport between you and Agamemnon." I responded, shaken with fury. "You use me to protect your pride." I flung my free arm towards the steel chests. "To protect your plunder. I am not your toy! I am not your stake!"

I gasped as I was thrown near the opening, albeit gently, and as I landed on my right hip. "Leave, then." In that voice, I heard absolutely no emotion. The man, Achilles, had been replaced by the cold, calculating warrior. In the lightning, I saw his legs move powerfully over me as he pulled back the flaps. I stood immediately, anger swelling from the embarrassment and his hard heart. He looked at me once again, nonchalantly and cruelly. "Leave."

My head was red hot as I acted out of my instinct as a woman. My hand flew directly to strike his face. I did not hear the strike for the thunder engulfed it, and faster than I could think, Achilles launched himself upon me. I trudged back, deeper into the tent, from his sheer force and magnitude. I saw his jaw, firm and tight, and his eyes maniacally darting over me. My head was sandwiched firmly between his hands and his fingers dove into my hair. I knew that he exerted much more force in restraining himself, because any other would have died there, crushed in his hands.

"Do it!" I spat. "End your pledge to me." I laughed sadly. "Save your rations."

"Ismene…" He hissed at me, full of empty threats.

"You are just like them. Those you lecture against. You care about nobody but yourself. You are a royal in pride and vanity and pleasure." My voice cracked in desperation as I realized how deeply I cared for this man. I said these words to assure myself, to distance myself from him. His hands never wavered and I saw his eyes, once again, glowing with intensity and melting away the charade of ice. "You are shameful and foolish!" My hands rose to my head in an attempt to pry his hands away. Finding no success, I violently beat his arms in frantic distress. My eyes swelled with tears as I attempted to shield my crying with my hysterical motions.

"Achilles…" I erupted in an anguished cry. The man consumed his name upon my lips, for the first time.

My head was released as he put his hands to better use. His arm tightened, almost uncomfortably, around my waist as his tongue parted my lips. I yielded to his insistence, and he explored me, deeper and fervently than any man had ever ventured. I was on my toes, on the tips of his power. We broke for a moment, the cool air flooding our lungs. Without another hesitation, he captured my lips again, soft this time. Intoxicated by this moment, I lost my abandon and zealously kissed him back as I locked my arms around his neck. I was wholly supported by his arms, now. I felt his body hard and hot against mine and I trembled warmly. His hands roamed freely and dangerously down my body. We kissed as we were blanketed by the night and lost under the sounds of the heavens. We kissed, amid strife and the coming day. We kissed.

"Achilles…" My voice broke heavily and laboriously. Our breathing hung heavily as he set me down on the sand. My heart was beating erratically. My face and chest were hot. He looked consumed with desire, caught in a familiar heat unknown to me. I slowly moved away from him, an air of abashment settling over me.

I collected a cloak, arranging it over my frame. I caught his eye, and I knew that he knew.

I exhaled and traversed around his imposing figure, my skin brushing against his. I exited the tent and met the drizzling remnants of the storm. I chose a path that I knew well and paced faster than I ever had. The sea, disturbed by the storm past, churned violently and sprayed me. The water cooled me, in more ways than one, and I continued my trek down and down.

I looked back and saw him following slowly. He was giving me the time that I needed.

Nevertheless, he would catch me, sooner more than later.


	9. The Sea of Propontis

**The Sea of Propontis**

My mother was named Omphale.

She was the most courageous woman that I had ever known. Born in Hatussha, Omphale, daughter of an affluent jeweler, wanted for nothing. She was promised to a wealthy man, a commander of Gordion, upon her birth, with a marriage viable on her twentieth summer. It was unheard of for a girl to reach that age and remain unmarried, however, her mother urged her to pursue interests aside from those of womanhood. My mother did not know the commander, and would not meet him until her day of marriage. So, the thought of that imprisonment conveniently fled her throughout her childhood.

Eventually, she married the man, but he was not my father.

My brother was named after my father, Attis. He met my mother on her sixteenth year, on her journey to Paphlagonia. He was an honest boy, on the brink of manhood, full of trust and awe. Open-eyed and innocent, he met my mother. She wove melodic tales about their chance encounter, stories brimming with love and beauty, song and dance. They met in a secluded meadow, spotted with vivid flowers and thick shrubbery, she had said. On the edges of the blue Propontis under a hazy sun, they kissed, she had said.

Humbly, they met and dove willingly into a deep and uncontrollable love. A love that nourished and drowned them both. A love that gave my mother two, small children before her eighteenth year of life.

The shock and anger that followed when Omphale, the promised virgin, returned to Phrygia were indescribable. She returned deferentially and without guilt, her hand firmly intertwined with the man who had made her a woman and a mother.

Her father beat her fiercely, there on his threshold, with me, as a babe, in her arms. My father was restrained by her family, unable to do anything but watch as Omphale was pummeled with blows. In a sign of reverence and her defiance, my mother kissed the hands, the hands of the father whom she loved, after his attack on her.

That night, her dowry and all of her father's wealth and possessions were promised to the commander of Gordion. In order to receive any of it, she would have to marry him. The commander agreed to overlook her love affair and us, her children. I know that my mother would have fled with my father that very night, but she stayed and agreed to the marriage for the love of her children. She had nothing to give us. My father had nothing to give us. With the marriage, she would guarantee the futures of my father, Attis, and I.

I was three years of age when she married the commander. My brother and I stood with our father as he watched another man marry the woman that he loved.

She was the prettiest bride and she was the saddest bride. Garbed in red and soft pink, glittering with pearls and gold, and softened with sweet-smelling _melia_ down her hair, my mother was my queen. As the procession exited the commander's hall, I shook myself from my father's grasp and ran to her. It was the first time that I saw the commander. He was of common beauty, but brooding and icy.

"Ismene, sweet one," she chided in her soft, heavily-accented Greek behind her lavender veil, "go to papa." She glanced briefly to my father and gently pushed me towards him. The commander took her hand and led her away. I watched sheepishly and returned, my heart breaking as I lost my mother.

The marriage did not last. A year of abuse, in every form, was an anathema to Omphale. She fled with us. Two, white horses, saddled with as much gold and silver that she could salvage, symbolized her thievery. A thievery of her own promised possessions, locked away by the commander.

We settled near the sea of Propontis, the fabled genesis of my parents' love. With the treasure, we procured a stable home. My father took work as a fisherman and my mother became his apprentice, his wife, and his love, forever. We lived and laughed and loved.

On a breezy night, a night that I will never forget, my mother imparted her most poignant advice. "When the time comes, Ismene," She had said as we kneaded bread over the glow of a fire, "be a fool in love. A beautiful fool in love." Her gray eyes stared at me, resolutely. "But do not be foolish, my love. Never subject yourself to men."

Her smile will never leave my mind. "You are yours and yours alone, and when you find him, you will be his and he will be yours. I promise."

The commander ordered her execution, and my mother was killed the very next day.

I watched as my father's heart burned alongside her, near the sea. We fled west, to Troy, without purpose and without life.

**-0-0-0-**

Patroclus sat a few spans away from me. His eyes were focused on the battle, in front of us. The tower, that we were in, was an old, storage compound, posted by the beaches of Troy. It was used to hold food and water for workers along the beach, and for a few settlements around Troy's perimeter. Now, it served as a viewing site for carnage. I glanced at Patroclus and I could see his quiet resentment. Achilles had forbade his participation in the war, until he felt that Patroclus was ready. To his annoyance, Patroclus knew that his cousin's decision would be completely arbitrary.

"Patroclus." I tore the small loaf of bread that I brought with me and offered it to him. He shook his head quickly and turned back to the fight. I shifted and looked onward. Patroclus and I had settled into an aura of calm, indifferent yet unstrained. He had told me that our first meeting was more dramatic than he had intended.

"Achilles was watching. I felt…I wanted to show my strength…a modicum of his own brutality." His brow furrowed shyly and he gestured to his neck, symbolizing my own. "I hope I did not…were you injured badly?"

"No."

I felt a deep tension evaporate within him, and I understood that he had been worried about the outcome of his actions.

"I apologize, Ismene." I nodded in acceptance and smiled timidly.

Now, we sat in seriousness.

I had lost Achilles in the dust of battle, the sprays of blood, and the cries of sword and men. He and his Myrmidons were in the midst of the battle, leading the charge. Agamemnon, the leader of this charge, watched on from the edges of battle, untouched and undisturbed.

We watched as limbs and blood rained down like a cascade on previous owners. I had caught glimpses of Achilles in battle. He moved like the warlord he was, removing lives from this earth, easily and methodically. I pitied the men lost upon his sword. He was voracious, in every sense of the word.

Voracious and unyielding, in all matters.

_Never subject yourself to men. _Those words burrowed into my heart and huddled in, mocking me. I was disgusted with myself. The rainy night, the cause of my glum, played again and again in my head. Yes, I cared for Achilles. Under my gaze, the man, who I had vowed to keep out, entered my heart, unbeknownst to him. I watched him laugh and spar, openly, with his cousin and fellow soldiers. He talked to me as a woman and an equal, without malice nor ulterior intentions. The women were tasked to care for the men like their wives, left in Greece. Achilles would not even let me carry a jug of water if he deemed it too heavy. Yes, I believed he cared for me, as well. Yet, I did not know the ways of men. I was never sure of his feelings.

I knew why I had kissed him back. I was searching for the candor in my mother's words. I had never loved a man before, in that sense. Even if I had the ability, I did not know.

I had returned to Achilles' tent after we shared the kiss. He was prone on his bedding, naked, save for a thin cloth covering his lower body. I knew that he needed the rest, with respect to the morning's battle, but his closed eyes had fooled me far too many times. I knew that he was not asleep.

I extinguished the remaining lamp, and settled into my corner.

"Achilles…" I whispered to nothing. "Achilles…"

"Hush." I heard him, softly. "Sleep."

"The kiss…it was a mishap, a fault. I did not mean…"

His laugh was slow and low, full of disappointment. He interjected quickly, "There, she is. You are innocent, without the stirrings of love. You are pure. You cannot touch the enemy." I felt his eyes on me. "Did I exclude anything?"

I shrunk at his scorn. "Please, listen to me-"

I heard the bed shift and recognized that he was sitting. "That moment was the first time that I heard you say my name, Ismene. The first time.

"Ever since I found you on the slopes, I never tasted your vitriol towards me. I never saw your hate and admonishment. I, a killer, murderer, whatever you wish, was welcome in your eyes. Yet, you would not name me. You would not humanize the demon."

He continued. "Why? When every other has shunned me, why did you not?"

"You do not know what you speak, Achilles. Please-"

"You are perfection, Ismene. You are beautiful and perfect. Now, you have come to recant. You have grasped the matter that your perfection has been marred by the lips of Achilles. You wear a fine mask."

I held my breath.

"I sought to seek you when I kissed you. I thought I found you. But, here, you have come to remove that silly thought, to apologize, to wash your hands of the fiend. I misjudged you"

"You misjudge me, Achilles. However, not in the way you are following."

"No?"

Moments passed between us. Outside, I could hear the movements of the watchmen.

"Do I have your consent...to shelter elsewhere?" I could not stay with him, for both of our benefits. The question staggered him momentarily, but he caught his voice.

"Go." He returned to his icy demeanor and settled back into sleep. I gathered my cloak and left. Eudorus was my proposed consort, but I knew that he would be fast asleep. I did not wish to risk my life by waking a sleeping Myrmidon. My eyes darted behind me.

I straightened my cloak on the wet sand and laid down in exhaustion. I slept behind Achilles' tent. The site that had started my journey. His breathing, strong and deep, lulled me to sleep.

Before the morning's fight, I sought Eudorus. Now, I had been under his protection for the past three weeks.

Patroclus' voice snatched me from my thoughts. "They approach. Come, Ismene." He grasped my forearm and we walked down to meet the Myrmidons. The Greeks separated, little by little, into their various groups and nationalities. Patroclus and I waited by the edge of Achilles' camp to greet the men.

"There he is. The housekeeper!" Linos roared as he ran to lift Patroclus into his arms. Patroclus dodged his arms, spitting obscenities at the man, who bawled loudly in laughter.

"Don't tease him." I chided, shaking my head, as Linos approached me.

"A joke, little fish."

The men settled around the camp, exhausted and famished. I made myself available to provide water and food, bandages and salves. None of them were gravely injured, only bruised and battered. Only a few of them knew my real name. With gratitude to Linos, I was "little fish." I maintained the flow of wine and meat, and gathered their sword and shields, to be polished in the evening.

Over the beaches, I could hear many men screaming in agony as limbs were amputated. Slowly, the dead were hauled in, nearer and nearer.

I was walking towards the wine barrels to refill my amphora when I caught sight of Achilles. He was in conversation with Patroclus as they made their way to the camp. Patroclus clutched a shield and a sword, and I surmised that they belonged to one of Achilles' fallen comrades. I tried to walk back with little pomp, but I did not succeed.

"Ismene!" Patroclus yelled to me. I turned and saw him waving in signal. Achilles looked directly at me.

I left the wine by Eudorus and forced a smile, walking towards them. "We have one more for you to polish," he said, grinning, "a legend's!" I moved to take the items, but Patroclus waved me away. "I will take it. You take Achilles'." He walked away, leaving me with Achilles.

I barely looked up at him. I held my arms to accept the shield and I heard him sigh heavily. He arranged the shield over my arms and positioned the sword over it. When I moved, the sword shifted down, aiming at the crook of my elbow. Achilles caught it before it could touch me.

"Shift the shield lower," he said quietly.

We walked in silence, reaching his tent. "Do you wish for me to leave these here? I can clean them, tonight."

"No, bring them in. I will clean them," he said.

I had not been inside his tent for over three weeks. He pulled the flaps aside, letting me into a familiar and unfamiliar dwelling. I set the weapons beside his bed, hearing him unfasten his armor behind me and clean himself. I turned to leave, but his bulk blocked the door. Purposefully, I thought.

"Whose sword and shield was Patroclus carrying?" I asked in an attempt to break the silence.

"Ajax," he replied.

"You knew him well?"

"Yes, I trained with him as a child. We – pass me that skirt, Ismene – we had the same instructor, Chiron. Our fathers also trained under him. Sit, Ismene."

I sat on his bedding, a sense of comfort spreading over me. Many times, we had reenacted this very image.

"You loved him?"

"Like a brother." He said, sitting on the stool by the entrance. "He was a good man, a fierce leader. The majority of his men were killed today."

"You should welcome the rest into your camp. They will have excess food."

He smirked. "I already have. I see you have developed the mind of a war strategist."

I smiled.

He continued. "You will have more assistance, as well. Ajax was attended by six women. He was a…rowdy man."

"Whose hand ended his life?"

"The prince and no less. Hector is a formidable opponent. I could not wish Ajax a better death."

We talked and shared a platter of food.

I missed him. I missed his voice and moods. Yet, we had created a rift between us, one senseless and wary to bridge.

* * *

The night was breezy and calm. I sat on the sand by Eudorus' tent, polishing the shields of the men. All around me, the atmosphere was relaxed and full of laughter. Ajax would have his twelve days of funeral games. Nights like this reminded me of my life by the sea, so easy and carefree. Tonight, the moon was full, illuminating the tents across the beach. The fires from each camp resembled the light insects that my brother and I would watch in the trees by our home. Nearby, a soldier was playing the lyre. Elsewhere, another was singing, with the deep timbre of a man, a haunting and composed ballad. The soldiers from Ajax's camp exchanged stories of home and dreams of their lost worlds. In a world of chaos, I had a found a piece of serenity.

The women from Ajax's camp were adjusting to their new abode. Linos was drunkenly charming a beautiful blonde.

Achilles would take one, I assumed.

"…they are evacuating to the east. Some to the south." I caught Eudorus' words as he spoke to another soldier over a hunk of meat.

"Where to? Ida?" the soldier responded.

"Possibly."

"If they valued their lives, they would head east."

"They do not know the land," Eudorus spoke.

"_We _do not know the land. Yet, I could find Ida with my own prick leading me."

"East _is_ their best hope," Eudorus conceded, "they could sail the Propontis into Thrace."

"Please. I'll sail them over, myself. Anything to leave this shithole."

I looked over my shoulder beyond the walls of Troy. I could almost see the dark waters of the sea, gleaming at me. I knew the way to Paphlagonia, to Mysia, to Bithynia. My feet was my map for I had trekked all along that terrain. If Troy was being evacuated, the palisades would be opened.

My brother needed me. I needed to help him leave Troy with Melitta's boy. We would return to our paradise, once more.

The sea.

The wind blew my hair furiously around my face and I was hit by the soft smell of _melia_.

_Do not be foolish, my love._

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading guys! My hands will be tied for the next week because I have to study for finals :( So, I might not be able to upload as frequently as I've been doing. This chapter was extra long to make up for that though :) Did you see this twist coming? Please comment :)_

_thecreepest, camoc, and Leenamura4 - Love you guys! Thanks for your reviews!_

_camoc - I can see why you felt that. Hopefully, you've seen in this chapter why they were both reserved and not overly obvious._


	10. For Achilles II

**For Achilles**

_Omniscient Narration_

_Her name was Eione, Ajax's first capture off of the Carian coast. She had been a princess of Caria, blonde and bright._

_Achilles watched as she entered his tent, struggling with the water jugs. Her dress had been stained by the mud of the Scamander. She did not speak to him, her eyes moving over him with pure disdain and contempt. Achilles did not even bat an eye towards her. She saw the bundle of dresses in the corner and requested a change from her current garb. Achilles looked towards the array of dresses, thinking about its previous owner. Eione took his turn for acquiescence and promptly chose the dress of lavender. She looked at him, years of haughtiness dictating her wish for privacy. He stood, a mirror of her own contempt. He did not leave for her sake, but for that of a different woman._

_Ismene sat, tended by Eudorus and a group of Achilles' men. Her small hands rose hopelessly to her lips as she shook with laughter. He had spoken with Eudorus, apart from her knowledge. Eudorus was his informant, briefing him on her journeys to the Scamander, her talks with the men, even her moods. She believed that she had escaped him, he thought lightheartedly. She could never, not anymore._

_He detested the fact that this Eione would lie where she was once did. A pitiful replacement. The smile of Ismene would not greet him when he returned from the battlefield. Instead, he would be greeted by hate and conceit. The one unexpected pleasure in his life was so removed from him, and it was completely of his own doing._

_The night that he had kissed her was one of the most vulnerable moments of his life. The warmth he felt when he held her was unlike any other pleasure. He had been wary. Wary that she would pull away. Wary that she would shut herself from him._

_As he lay there, his mind had pondered ways to extract himself from her. He had been preparing to bid farewell to the Ismene that he had come to…_

_When she returned, he had been expecting the worst, and it had come. He saw that there was more to her reason, but the fighter inside of him would not let his susceptibility show. He did not wish to face the complications of unchartered territory._

_But as he watched her, he knew that he would have her back. Her beauty had enflamed him, but her spirit would swallow him whole._

* * *

Had to throw this in here, guys! **I've posted two chapters this week. This one and The Sea of Propontis. **


	11. Sweet One, Sweet One

**Sweet One, Sweet One**

Linos was delirious with pain. He lay on a straw pallet, close to the tent's fire pit. Eudorus held his thigh steady, two other Myrmidons grasped his arms steady, and another held his head as the old surgeon approached Linos with a rusted saw and a sharp dagger. The room spun in the pungent odor of menthol and musk and burnt wood.

The cloud of pain surrounding Linos cleared, for a moment, to allow him to take notice of his approaching amputation. His screams and grunts were amplified trifold in the small enclosure. I winced at his yells. I winced as he moved his head in vain, searching for a savior from the coming pain, from the coming loss of his status as a Myrmidon soldier in this Achaean war. He cried out painfully, to nobody. His voice was choked in spit and terror. His chest heaved forcefully as the surgeon took his place by Linos' mangled leg.

My stomach turned painfully as the matted cloth was pulled from the injury. His lower leg no longer held the semblance of human anatomy. The bone shone brightly like a white beacon, encased in a mess of blood, tendons, and dying tissue. Even the most hardened soldiers, present in the tent, shook from the sight.

I stood in the dark of the tent, my back flattened to the leather. I only moved when they called for the bowl of hot water in my hands. We were deep into the night, one that I knew would last an eternity for Linos.

"Tie the leather. Elevate his leg."

Linos groaned deeply as his limb was handled. I held my breath as the surgeon moved over his instruments.

"Tighter! Tie it! He will bleed out if it is loose."

I watched Linos' eyes move over me as his jaw hung limply in pain. He was in too much shock.

"Please," I spoke loudly, emerging from the shadows, "he must bite against an object to ease the pain. Please."

"There. Steady him now." The surgeon blatantly ignored me, but I quickly saw Eudorus nod over his shoulder towards me, allowing me to find an object for Linos. I put down the bowl and looked around the tent for a strap or a length of thick cloth.

I found a small block of uncharred wood by the entrance of the tent.

"Here!" I exclaimed, "I have found…" My tongue was stilled as the leather flaps of the tent were pulled aside. I looked immediately to the entrance and slowly retreated deeper into the tent.

Achilles entered with a force, his concentration solely on his fellow soldier. The Myrmidons and the surgeon bowed quickly with reverence as their leader took root by Linos' side.

Linos cried out in pain, and maybe hope, as he sought the unruffled presence of Achilles. From my thin grasp on their rougher, more local Greek, I heard Achilles speak soundly to Linos about the heart of the Myrmidons. The strength of their kind, the power of their might, and their own mockery of death. Achilles provided a source of fortitude, and I slowly saw Linos regain that fortitude. His breathing became deeper and slower. His hands clenched and unclenched, and he nodded to his leader with the unspoken vows of brotherhood and resilience.

Achilles sought me, now. He beckoned with his eyes and I gave him the block of wood. He fitted the resistance between Linos' teeth and nodded the consent to the surgeon, whose saw was poised above the injury.

"Think of Larisa," Achilles breathed to Linos as he forcefully held down the shoulders of the man.

I did not know which sound was worse.

The grating scrapes and screeches as the jagged blades bore down on human bone.

The muffled shrieks of a man, muffled but clear, as he lost his defining characteristic as a man.

I watched, through blood and bone, screams and tears, as a soldier was made lame. There was a final crack as the bone was broken and Linos' fate was sealed.

"Where is the healer to sew him? Where?" The surgeon bellowed. He looked at me, pointing. "Will it be she?"

"No." Eudorus snapped, "She is common. She has neither the hands nor the skill."

I did not receive that as an insult. It was only a fact of the matter. Besides, the situation was too dire for insults.

"Burn it." Achilles stated. "Now. Before he wakes to feel the flames."

I left the tent, at this, but I still heard the sizzling of flesh and the continuation of screams.

* * *

_Viv al shala, oo shamala_

_Li vi ala, oo shamala_

_Sweet one, sweet one, oo shamala_

_Viv al shala, oo shamala_

"Where is that one from?" Linos asked, croakily. I slowly adjusted his head on my lap as I quietly massaged his head and hair.

"My father used to sing it to my brother and me. It is an old Mysian dialect." I smiled down at him. "Do you like it?"

"I do not know what it means," he answered. The surgeon instructed me to keep Linos conscious throughout this night. He would have a better chance of surviving the surgery.

"It is about happiness and love."

He laughed bitterly at this. "Ismene, the loss of my leg did not render my mind useless. Your sweet words are for a child, little fish." They were. "I am a man who is not a man."

We were still under the cloak of night, watchful and hopeful. Unfortunately, Linos had developed a fever. His body blazed hot above mine. Continuously, I would douse his body with cold seawater. We were alone in his tent. The fires had been put out, save for spirals of smoke emanating from lost embers. Eudorus kept watch outside the tent. I could hear the crashing of waves behind me. Linos once told me that the noise lulled him to sleep.

"Tell me about your family, Linos."

I had to keep him awake. We talked about everything and nothing. We laughed at everything and nothing.

"Go, Eudorus." I knew that it was Achilles. I felt his presence before he even dismissed Eudorus, outside. He came into the tent, and my heart jumped from his strength. He was my only totem of support this night and in this war. He saw me, smiling slightly. A smile of assurance.

"Has he eaten?" he asked me softly.

I nodded.

"Have you eaten?"

I nodded again, lying.

Linos shook with chills, then. He was violent, and growing delirious. Achilles covered the stride and carefully lifted Linos, so that I could move from under him. Linos' eyes were wide open as he shook from the fever and the pain. My heart was rendered into pieces at the sight of my dear friend.

"Is there more poppy?" Achilles asked.

"There is no more. Nor fresh bark."

Achilles sighed. "Give him water. Cold water."

I turned to find the amphora, my eyes misting with tears. There was nothing more that we could do for Linos. I had heard this line many times in the camp. 'Give him water.' Cold, fresh water was the last taste that the dying would have on this earth. Rarely would a man survive a shock amputation like this.

Achilles tilted his head as I poured the water down Linos' throat. I retreated as he arranged Linos on the bed of furs, the wet rag damp on his forehead.

I gathered my knees to myself as I watched from the opposite side of the tent. I was taken aback by the sight. It was surreal. It was painful. Achilles moved methodically, for I knew that he had done this many times before.

Linos looked restful. His breathing was calm and gentle. Achilles watched over him for a time, before turning to sit by me.

And we waited.

And we waited.

"He will be fine, Ismene." I turned to look at him, my face wet with tears. I shook my head as another burst of tears engulfed my body. Achilles pulled me towards him, his arm encasing me tight to him. I had no power to control myself as I lay my head on his shoulder. Death had visited me many times, but this meeting was too broken. Too unfair. I shook there in Achilles' arms as he whispered nothing and everything to me. I was so tired. I was not a soldier like him. I was only Ismene.

"He will die." I whispered.

"He was taught to die. He was born to die." He answered.

I shook my head. "He does not deserve to die."

"We all deserve to die. All of us." I looked up into those powerful eyes and shook as I did not see all of my invincible Achilles. I looked back at Linos, his breathing growing slower.

"How can you do this, Achilles?" I whispered.

"I am a soldier. He is a soldier." He lowered his head to mine. "This is a war. I have told you, Ismene. Linos does not deserve _this_ and neither did the eighty Trojan soldiers killed for his sake after his injury in combat. They will all greet him on the Styx. Yet, they all do not deserve _this_."

My eyes closed in sadness and pain as I bid goodbye to my dear Linos. The one who had saved me, who had watched over me, who had learned about me, who cared for me. I bid him goodbye.

I did not see him when I awoke in the morning sun. His body was not there. Achilles was still with me, watchful as ever. His eyes roved over me as he felt me move. His lips brushed over my forehead as I hugged his body closer to mine.

The waves crashed louder than I had ever heard them before. I could see the sun streaming in sharp lines through the holes in the tent.

We sat there, with an aura of pain between us. The faint horns in the distance signaled the start of funeral games. An ode to dear Linos.

_Little fish…_

* * *

_**Thanks so much for reading! Please comment! Everyone, English or not! I love hearing from all of my readers! I'd love to hear from all of you :)  
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_**I'm super sorry that I haven't been posting as much as I have. I am a Chemistry major in University, so it is hard to write when I have all of this science and math on my plate :)**_

_**Thank you so much for sticking with the story. There is plenty more to come. Tell me what you think :)**_


	12. Caria to Scyros to Phrygia

**Caria to Scyros to Phrygia **

Patroclus caught his breath as he moved languidly across the small space. Sweat streamed down his limbs in the afternoon heat, yet he continued to move; his imaginary opponent caught each brunt of his thrusts and each blow from his shield. We were by the river, alone and undisturbed.

I, inundated with clothes and soaps and washing.

He, merciless in his quest for an uncertain place in the war.

His cousin was amidst that very war as we lingered by the Scamander. The camp was empty; the day itself was empty save for bloodshed.

I looked down to the cloak between my fingers and resumed scrubbing its weight diligently. Over my shoulder, I could hear Patroclus' heavy footsteps as he danced his dance of battle. I could hear every slash within the air, and I heard each gasp as he strained and overextended his muscles. Whenever I watched Achilles, I heard nothing.

Suddenly, I felt a whoosh of air above my head, and I almost lurched forward into the water.

"Patroclus!" I called out, in a voice laced with apprehension. I immediately dropped the clothing from my hands and rose. I turned to find him doubled in laughter as he scanned my face.

_On Hades' head, I could have killed him._

"I did not see you…" he blurted through his laugh. I was hot with anger. I grabbed the wet cloak by the banks and threw it squarely at his face. He didn't quite catch it before it hit his face, which held absolutely no difference as he laughed even harder.

I picked up my basket and moved down the river to distance myself away from him. "Ismene, come back." I could still hear the mirth lingering in his voice.

"It was not one of your wooden swords, Patroclus." I called back to him, over my shoulder. "My life could have been yours in that moment."

I settled down in the reeds, my feigning of anger disappearing with each move. He chuckled as he reached me, an innocent expression of forgiveness playing across his features. I sighed in exasperation, my eyes attempting to keep my look of disdain, but failing miserably. He smiled and sat by me, his shoulders brushing mine in the familiar way that we had come to know each other.

"I did not see you," he started, seriously, "but, my sword certainly did!" I struck his chest as he resumed his laughter.

I tried my hardest not to laugh, but his joy overwhelmed me. "You are incorrigible."

He planted a swift peck on my temple and beamed. "I try. I truly do."

He lay back onto the reeds. He flung his arms loosely about his eyes to shield from the bright sun. I continued washing quietly. This scene had become routine for us. Achilles was still adamant about his cousin's participation in the war, and I…I remained Ismene within the Myrmidon camp. I had no skill to offer save for the few duties of a woman. I cared for the soldiers along with the other girls. I fed them, stitched their chitons, polished their shields and swords, and gathered native herbs for their drinks. I believed I was tolerated among the men…more an asset than a nuisance. Yet, I felt very misplaced along the sands of the Greeks.

I was comfortable, but I was seriously misplaced.

Achilles provided all that he could for me in our limited environment. In truth, the months that I had spent with him here, near these banks of death and blood, encompassed the most luxurious moments of my life, so far. His care was not extravagant. It was simple and constant. He seemed to know everything that I needed without a word from me.

But, this war was his only and complete master. I was not his primary focus.

Yet, he was completely mine.

"If you scrub any harder, I will see your hands to the bone."

I looked back at Patroclus whose eyes smiled brightly at me.

"Would you like a turn?" I moved to hand him the soaked cloak in my hands. He laughed and sat up, picking at the shrubbery around us.

"Achilles made me do that…back in Larisa," he started, "he made me wash the clothing of the soldiers after they finished with combat training, each and every evening." I wrung the last of the shirts and sat back as Patroclus enveloped himself in the memories of his past. "I was so embarrassed. The men laughed at me and their women cackled even louder. I almost hated my cousin." He paused and turned to me. "Do you know why he commanded me to do so, Ismene?" I shook my head.

"'To build reverence. To build admiration. To build humility.' He had said. I figured my cousin to be a fool. A cruel man playing with my emotions." He stopped to grasp a stubborn reed that had been evading his fingers, pulling it from its root violently. "But, he was right. At dusk, I would wash away the sweat of the men. On their chitons, I saw each exertion, each strain from their bodies. I saw where the marks of sweat spotted the shirts and where no marks showed…proof of muscle extensions and muscle weaknesses. For each and every Myrmidon soldier, I knew where his weaknesses lay and where he held power." Patroclus smiled. "Achilles taught me how to kill a man by washing a shirt."

He looked at me and continued, waves of nostalgia peeking from his eyes.

"Chiron forced Achilles to do the same and more. My cousin was quite lenient with me, now as I think upon it. Achilles and Ajax – gods rest him – were sent to Mount Pelion to train at the age of…not more than six, I would say. They were practically enslaved to the grand soldiers. Only the best of the Greeks trained under Chiron. Throughout the ten years he spent with Chiron, never did a sword grace Achilles' hands."

"Never?"

He nodded. "He bore the shields and swords of the older men, he cooked their meals…he washed many, many shirts. Every single night, he and Ajax kept watch over the mountainside. Sleep was a very faint illusion."

"How did he master the sword, then?"

"When he returned to Larisa, he mastered it on his own accord. The thought fills me with awe. My uncle, Peleus, gave him reign over the Myrmidons on his eighteenth summer. He taught me all that I needed to know. He brought me here because he believes in my skills. Achilles sees himself in me. I know it."

"He knows you more than any person here. He is your family. He loves you."

"Yes. My chance will come, Ismene."

I nodded in agreement, pulling my chlamys tighter around my body. "Who knows? You might command the soldiers in his stead."

"The Myrmidons will belong to Neoptolemus," he said, shaking his head.

"Neoptolemus? Is he Achilles' brother?"

"His son."

Achilles had never mentioned his son's name to me before. He told me short tales about the boy, but I felt as if he kept his son solely to himself. Solely to his own memories. It was his right. Though, I wished I could have his full confidence. I wished I could somehow learn how to gain his full trust. This realization blighted my mood momentarily.

I smiled up at Patroclus. "How is he? Is he as boisterous as his father?"

"Even more so. Neo is a ruddy child. Thick and sturdy like Achilles. He will be big. He will be strong. He was only a babe when we sailed for Troy. This winter will be his first year. I miss the little beast. He has the most inquisitive blue eyes…those of his mother's."

I had been expecting to discover more about the mother of Achilles' son, but the mention of her stilled my body, especially my heart.

"His mother?" I uttered under the tiniest whisper.

Patroclus' eyes burst bright as he recalled the thought of her. "Princess Deidamia of Scyros. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She met Achilles when he journeyed to Scyros on a diplomacy mission," he blushed, "he left the kingdom with more diplomatic assurances than he had intended."

I listened, my spirit breaking with each word.

"Neoptolemus is with her in Scyros. Her father, King Lycomedes, sends messengers informing Achilles about Neo's wellbeing."

"That is very well. He should be cognizant about his son, especially since little Neo is so young. What of the princess? Surely, he must care about his wife's welfare?"

"She is not his wife."

I spoke without thinking, my voice thickening with emotion. "He must love her?"

Patroclus looked squarely at me, his eyes blinking hard. He seemed as if he was weighing the implications of his responses and weighing the extent of my intimacy with his cousin. He was defensive. I looked away, fidgeting with the basket of clothes.

"I must dry these." I mumbled as I stood and lifted the basket into my arms.

"No," he said, "let me." He took the basket and we walked silently away from the Scamander into the camp. I pointed him to the stones of the cliffs where the hot sun would heat the clothes.

"Do you need anything else?" He asked.

"No, thank you. I – I will visit the site of Linos' pyre later this afternoon…in case I am not back."

He nodded.

He lingered quietly as I spread the clothes onto the stones. I heard him walk away after a few minutes. It was only then that my body relaxed and I realized that I had been in a state of terror throughout our trek back from the river.

A horn blew loudly and I saw the early branches returning from the day's battle.

* * *

The sea crashed further inland as it was spurred by the night wind. The days were getting colder and shorter. The supplies were quite tentative. I had finished making multiple broth infusions for some of the soldiers dealing with ailments due to the changing weather. Eudorus was greedily drinking his own bowl as I left his tent.

My cloak billowed and slapped against my body as I walked the distance to the edge of Achilles' tent. I wanted to hear his opinion on the camp's supplies and any commands that he might have for me. I wanted to see him.

There was a low light emanating from the entrance of his tent. I did not know how to get his attention in order to enter. When I was with him, I freely entered his tent. Now, a longtime stranger to this tent, I did not know if I was as welcome as I always was.

"Achilles," I said loudly against the wind.

"Achilles!"

"He is not here." A woman, draped in furs, emerged from his tent. She was around my height with a shock of ice-white hair. She looked like a goddess.

"Did you not hear me? He is not here," she repeated.

"Do you know when he shall return? I must speak with him." I regained my voice.

"No," she said quickly. I felt defeated. I turned to walk back to Eudorus.

"Wait!" The woman said. "Come. You can await his return."

Was it my desperation to see Achilles? Was that what she saw? Was that also why I agreed to wait in his tent?

I entered and was relieved to see that his bedding was undisturbed and neat. The furs around the woman's body were not from his bed. In fact, I saw the tin tub, filled the water, which she had been using to clean herself.

She garbed herself in a black dress, one that I recognized as once being mine. Around his tent, I could see the influx of gold and silver treasure from the private raids the Myrmidons had undertaken. The tent looked as organized and immaculate as I remembered it to be. Whoever this woman was, she was taking good care of Achilles.

"Are you a concubine? Do you belong to one of the men?" She asked me outright.

"No," I said and to my own shock, I countered the question, "Are you?"

She seemed a bit indignant, even surprised, but she shook her head. In truth, we had nothing to talk about. I had never seen her on the banks of the river like the other girls. I had never interacted with her. I truly did not know who she was.

"Who are you?" my mind blurted before I could catch it.

"I am Eione of Caria. Who are _you?_"

"My name is Ismene."

"Ismene? Ismene of where?"

"Troy."

"I have never heard of you."

"You would not have."

Her brows piqued slowly in a sign of disdain. I looked away as she began to empty the tub.

I was jealous. I was hotly envious of this woman and I knew not how to control myself. Yes, when I left Achilles' tent I knew that another woman would replace me. It was a custom of war. The men, if they had the resources, took women that tended to the men. I had been oblivious to the fact that this woman would stir me so, emotionally. Achilles was ripping me apart slowly and he knew nothing of it.

Why had he kissed me if he intended to take another? Why was he so affectionate towards me when he had another within his tent? Why was he doing this? Why was I letting him do this to me?

When he kissed me, on that rainy day, he told me that I viewed him as a beast, he likened himself to a disgusting fiend. It was untrue. It was severely untrue. I had never seen him as so. Maybe he knew the falsities in his statement. His words to me were just a clever ruse to promote sympathy and to get me into his bed. Was he playing with my heart? Was I a conquest to be subjugated?

My eyes were welling with tears and I did my best to shield myself from the eyes of Eione.

He truly was a beast! A beast with a growing collection from Caria to Scyros to Phrygia. A beast, sent from Greece to kill the lone wildling from Phrygia. I was tired of caring for him. The reprieve of his love would never come for me.

"You are not of Troy." I heard Eione in front of me. "You are too beautiful a beauty to hail from a shore as simple as Troy."

I stared at her, transfixed. "How did you know?"

She smiled. "I do not know an Ismene of Troy. I know of one from a land far east from here. I know that girl…" she looked over me, softly and sweetly, "you are just as feisty as he said you would be."

I think I smiled. My head was numb from her declaration. He would not let me go. Unyielding in all matters, even the mention of his name held me tighter to him. I could not stop smiling.

"I must go. He will return soon," Eione said.

"How did you know it was me, outside?"

"Your face. The warmth in your eyes could have scurried us along into summer."

* * *

_"Each camp has had its fair share of losses, my King. Odysseus' camp has had no successes with raids. They have even sent a ship to Apaisos. No success."_

_"Yes, my King. Nestor has lost a dozen men, yet the food will not hold them."_

_"We need gold and silver to buy supplies! There is no way around it!"_

_"We cannot leach out resources. We do not have the time nor the expenses."_

_"Where will we find a supply of expenses? From where?"_

_"King Agamemnon, the camp close to the slopes of the rocky hills – the one isolated from the Achaeans – seems to prosper in these difficult times."_

_"Yes. I have seen their luxuries with my own two eyes."_

_"They refuse to share with their brothers-in-arms! It is almost treasonous!"_

_"Aye!"_

_"Aye!"_

_"Who commands that fleet?"_

_The silence that followed was thick and unbearable. It was full of apprehension and full of misgivings._

_"The Myrmidons," a lone voice stated. "Achilles and his Myrmidons."_

_King Agamemnon sat back fully into the gold throne encrusted with diamonds. His hands moved slowly over his beard as he took in the expanse of his advisors. "Achilles and his Myrmidons...," he repeated slowly._

* * *

**Thank you my beautiful readers for all of your lovely comments and thanks so much for sticking with the story! :)**

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	13. Red Petals

**Red Petals**

I woke to him staring at me. He sat away from me, by the entrance to his tent. His hair was neat with oil, he was robed in black, and I could smell him – the fresh scent of seawater. It was morning and it was bright. His tent stirred softly as the wind whistled louder and louder. I tried to avoid his stare as I gathered my senses, but I was deeply disheveled. I felt an unfamiliar chill and looked down to discover that my dress had shifted completely, uncovering my left breast. As my face grew hot, I quickly covered myself and looked to see his smirking eyes. Then, he looked away. I was not greatly embarrassed. Besides, his eyes were only roaming over what his hands had previously explored.

I sat up and turned towards him as my dress settled around me, past the furs onto the sand. He had not moved. He only watched as I collected myself. His fingers drummed rhythmically on his knee as we sat there. I laughed at myself inwardly. How was I to explain my presence here?

"…and the last of it, m'lord." We both turned to Eudorus as he broke through the entrance with a wicker of my combs, my threads, and my oils.

"Ismene…" Eudorus started once he caught sight of me, "you've abandoned me! I figured -"

"Eudorus," Achilles cautioned softly. I watched as Eudorus heeded his master's hint of departure and I bowed my head in respect as he exited the tent.

It was only when I saw the small pile of my belongings that I realized what Achilles' had been up to. Everything that I owned and had gathered, during my stay with Eudorus, sat in a heap in a corner of the tent. The wicker basket was perched on a chest, swinging precariously like a mimicry of us. I looked away to see Achilles' satisfied face, one of mischief and victory. Now, my laughter spilled to my lips.

"You've finally come to your senses," he said. It had been quite some time since I heard his voice – since the morning we shared in Linos' tent. His timbre washed over my body like a forgotten song. His eyes shot to my belongings. "I was only quickening your progress," he said as his eyes slowly returned to me.

"I was perfectly comfortable where I was."

"You are very stubborn, Ismene. Even now." There were many implicit differences in our liaison now as opposed to the beginning. I wondered to what extent I remained the girl he found on the rocks. "Odd…" he drawled.

"Odd?"

"Yes."

"I want to leave."

"No…you do not." His confidence in that statement was frightening, and his accuracy quickened my blood. "Why did you come to me, then?"

It took me a few moments to remember my lie. "I…the wheat…the wheat and barley supplies are decreasing. I wanted to seek your judgment on the matter."

His brow rose in contemplation. "Castor keeps the records, Ismene. You know that…"

"I…"

"We will not starve. We have additional supplies," he finished with a sigh, knowing all too well that bread was not my reason for seeking him.

The tent grew silent as we continued to explore each other. I noticed a small scar on the back of his hand, on his knuckles. His skin was darker with the sun's tan. He easily resembled an eastern man, if it were not for his fair features. His legs looked bigger and mightier, strengthened by warfare. His hair was longer, wilder.

"Why did you come to me?" he asked again. In his eyes, I saw my heart's answer. It was as if he were projecting the words onto me that we both knew would end our madness – or was it solely my madness?

What was I to say? My excuse had been obliterated. _I wanted to see you, to hear you. I wanted your hands upon my body, I wanted to kiss you again and again. _"I only needed to make sure that we had enough food to last the cold." I mumbled pitifully.

"…to last the cold," he mocked over me. His fingers drummed on to a distant beat.

I pointed to the wash bowl in defeat. "Can I clean myself?"

"Of course. You can do anything you wish…you are free." I caught his sardonic comment and rolled my eyes. He rose, a bit too quickly for his size, and I was instantly inhibited by his sheer size. He downed a cup of water perched near the stool, and he approached me. I reached for his outstretched hand and I was pulled up closer than I had intended.

"The battle is outdated," he whispered down to me, "you have won."

My throat strained as I let myself answer his guise, freely and openly. "Yet, I am still in shackles."

"Those of your own making…I never held the key."

I knew it, but his revelation made everything seem too real and too reachable. He released my hand and walked towards the entrance. "Clean…" he said as he left.

* * *

My brother courted a young woman before the Greeks arrived. She was not Eastern; she was not a poor migrant girl or a servant. She was a proper, Trojan lady - Lysimache. At first, I was not aware of my brother's dalliances with Lys. Every morning before dawn, Nikias, Melitta, and I would leave the city to venture into Hellespont. Attis remained in our little home, doing as much as he could to keep himself busy and active. Apart from the maintenance of our merchant stand, my brother could only perform little tasks. He told me many times that if it weren't for aesthetics, he would have sawed his legs off long before we came to Troy. He couldn't bear to see the uselessness of them. What his legs took in his physicality, he channeled to his strength of mind. He devoured books and manuscripts and poetry with a voracity that I have yet to see matched. My brother taught me how to read authors through their works, how to see the underlying machinery of thought, and how to formulate my own mind through the strength of my heart. He studied mathematics – he loved numbers, he loved structure. Every evening, once we sold our wares for the day, I would take him past the royal fora where we would overhear various debates and lectures by the elder philosophers. My brother was never more delighted than when we took those evening strolls.

It was during one of these outings that we met Lysimache. She was prone on the marble steps leading to the hall, her shock of red hair fell gracefully onto her arm. I will never forget the ocean blue dress that she wore. I saw that dress every time I looked to the sea, here. She was surrounded by guards and her handmaiden who was fanning her in the heat. I remember moving the cart, on which Attis sat, closer to the shadows of the edifices, so that we would not be questioned or disturbed.

She saw us immediately. Her guards called us from the shadows and I believe that it was at that moment, when Linos and I crossed from the darkness into the light of the torches, that Linos gave his heart to Lysimache. She addressed him like a man and not a cripple. Once her guards deemed us unsuspicious, she invited us to move closer to hear a particular lecture. Her father was Glaucus, the king's first general. As the night grew darker, Attis allowed me to return home without him. I chuckle now as I confess why a young man would want his baby sister around as he wooed his first lady. Her guards brought him home later that evening and the smile on my brother's face would have melted any heart. It was the first time that I saw romance take a physical form. So, every morning, I would take Attis to the market and he would wait for Lys. I left to fish and returned in the afternoon to see her, in all of her splendor, and my brother, talking and laughing and expressing more and more with their eyes. I did not realize the great extent to which Attis professed his love for Lys.

She instilled in him a great love for Troy. Attis and I were vaguely patriotic to the walled city. It was the city that took us all in in the wake of my mother's death. My father, Attis, and I forged a modest living in the city. I had encountered so many ethnicities and cultures in the markets of Troy. I danced with the bathgirls who hailed from the kingdoms of Memnon. My neighbors were old bakers from Pataliputra, an old city far, far east than I had ever ventured or realized. Troy was my home. It was the only constant in my life up until the Achaean siege. However, Attis' love for Lys renewed our allegiance to the city trifold. Between them, I saw purity in its brightest form – happiness. How could anything other than absolute goodness spew from them? Everything seemed to bend to their favor and for their love. An aura of spirituality formed with the city, their love, our present, and our lives being the focal points. My brother deserved it – he deserved her love. And she deserved him – any queen on Earth would have been lucky to call him hers.

I returned home, one hot afternoon, to find my brother sitting on our clay floor. He was staring directly at the wall opposite him, but he wasn't looking at it. On his cheeks, I could see trails of tears. His arms were lifeless beside him. The amphora I held shattered in my haste to reach him. As I reached to hold him, my brother burst into deep, gut-wrenching sobs. I was dumbfounded until I saw the red, flower petal cradled in his palm. During her last embrace with her family, a bride is showered with a cascade of rose petals before she enters her husband's home.

I held my brother as we swallowed the bitter truth – we had let history repeat itself.

"Never forget this, Ismene. Us. Here in this moment. I have nothing but you. But, you have everything to live for, my love. You are my _hiero. _Remember us here, years from now, ensnared in the web of our ancestors, of their legacy, and smile in your escape. I am long gone, Ismene, but you will break this. Flourish in this city and move forward. _She_ taught us that." He kissed my forehead. "You are my sister and I command you – I beg you to flourish."

Here, the key was held.

* * *

"Eione." I saw her by the shore, her blonde hair whipping in the wind. "Do not even try to feign warmth. I saw you shivering from Achilles' tent."

She looked up at me and smiled. I offered the bowl of soup I held to her and sat near. "Summers in Caria are breezier than this. You look beautiful in black. Your shape – many women would kill for it." I was a bit uncomfortable as I remained quiet. "How is Achilles? Better now that his woman is returned?"

I had known her for all of two days, and I was still unsure of her relationship with Achilles. Honestly, I had never dealt with another woman in this…situation before, and I was trying my best to avoid any maliciousness. I was trying to be kind to her…civil if I needed to be, if there were unearthed feelings between her and Achilles.

"Achilles is Achilles. You know him." I offered, digging my heel into the sand.

"I did not give myself to him, if you were wondering," she stated abruptly, shocking me.

"Oh."

I looked to see her bright eyes studying me as she drank the soup. "He talked about you. Many times to King Odysseus. I was never there but I overheard."

I pulled my cloak tighter around me and began to rise. "The cold," I started, indicating with my head towards shelter. As I left her, she called briefly, "I have made my bed elsewhere. You need not worry about me." I smiled one last time before I hastened my steps to the tent.

I fanned the hearth once I entered, my body regaining heat. Throughout the day, I had acclimated myself to his tent again while he attended council meetings. There was not much out of place, but it was strange to be back in the place where I was most relaxed. Eudorus was a perfect cotenant, giving me as much privacy and space as I needed. He listened to me and I, him. But, I missed Achilles. I remembered how I would wake before dawn to catch his sleeping face. He resembled Melitta's baby son in his sleep. His breathing would be deep and loud, and his lips curved lazily to whichever side his face was angled in a dreamy smile. Hopefully, he never caught my shameless gawking.

"Don't burn your dress," Achilles said behind me as he entered. I looked down to see the edge of my dress dangerously close to the hearth.

"I was aware," I lied, "I think I would know better than to burn myself." He smiled knowingly.

"Have you –"

"Eaten?" I finished for him. "You sound like a clucking mother," I joked.

"A mother?" he said incredulously.

"Yes," I affirmed with a nod.

"I have been called many names, but a mother? You compare me to a woman?"

"You should be honored."

"And you should be honored that I was here to save you from burning my tent."

I sighed. "I have eaten."

He sat on the bed, stretching his limbs, and I quickly poured out a cup of wine. I offered him a bowl of food, but he gently declined. "I must leave soon, but first…"

I watched as he rose and moved about the tent, past the Trojan chests until he reached a simple basket. I immediately recognized the ware as he turned around. It was an old, Phrygian prayer bracelet, one for the old spirituals. On the white stones, I could barely make out the image of the sun, the silver of moon, and a red, red rose among the greenery. The relic was for those who gave homage to the river gods and goddesses.

"We found a woman – black-haired – from Phrygia, a slave among the Greeks. She hailed from _Alisar_." I smiled. I had never visited that city. Moreover, I was joyful that a fellow countrywoman was still alive in this moment, in our hopeless situation.

"What else did she say?" I followed behind him, my hand lingering on his back as he bent to close the basket. I felt like a child trying to pry sweets from the street merchants; my smile had never been wider.

He turned back to me, his face serious. "She was killed, butchered on the sands. Her throat had been slit, her wrists had been cut. I assume her owner left her body for the sea to claim…not even a proper rite was performed."

My hand dropped.

"Slaves are branded with their city and owner in Phrygia?"

I nodded, trembling. My hand moved to the side under my left arm, indicating the branding location.

"She held the image of an Alisarian slave, burned onto her skin. The men…I do not know who or under whose command…" He turned directly to me, his eyes burning into my own. "They are killing women. We are barely into a war and they are killing women to save rations. The men need food to fight. Women do not fight, yet, they eat. I have never seen these tactics come to fruition, but it is clear before my eyes, Ismene."

My head spun as he reached out to steady me. "Ismene, look at me." I looked up to meet his eyes, again. "Do not leave this camp again. You will not swim in the Scamander again lest they mistake you for one of their women. I do not want to see you in the company of their women, do you hear me? Stay here and keep yourself here. Ask any Myrmidon and they will accompany you, or I will know why. I will not have your blood on my hands. I will not."

My throat burned, "the bracelet?"

He released my arms and sighed. "If there is anybody that can properly mourn her, I entrust only you. We found it on her wrist."

I nodded and moved to sit by the entrance. This information weighed me down.

"I will return soon."

"Achilles," I said before he left, "thank you. Thank you for honoring her."

He nodded and quickly left.

* * *

I did not know the Alisarian prayers. I merely repeated the general blessings for her soul. I stood in the waters of the Scamander with Achilles behind me at a distance. I pressed my palms to my lips and slowly extended them to the starry sky. My lips moved over the chant again and again. I knelt into the water, my hand over my heart as I blessed the soul of the lost woman. I sprayed the water once, for her birth, twice, for her womanhood, and thrice, for her death. My veil fell onto my shoulders as I ended the prayers. I exited the river onto the banks, where I buried her bracelet shallowly into the mud. I knelt once more and pulled the black veil back over my hair. Then, I rose and I left the spirit of the woman there in the Scamander.

As I approached him, I saw his golden hair shine in the dark and I felt his strength guiding me towards him. Immediately, he enveloped me in his arms. I exhaled deeply into his shoulder as I shivered in the cold and in the sorrow. We remained there together, under the blanket of chilling stars.

"No tears…" he teased lightly as we broke apart, "this war has hardened you so?"

"Not so. My heart has been changed. Bronzed, if you will."

"Bronzed?"

"It has been bronzed like your sword."

"No, never like my sword," he asserted softly.

I linked my hand into his and we trekked back to the tent. Two lone figures, garbed in black on a moonless night.

"Achilles," I said softly as we entered. He turned to me and I confronted the truth that I had been searching for. I let my heart have this one thing, this one thing that would complete me for the rest of my life. I drew closer to him and I gently urged his head down to meet my lips. He was everything that I had to live for, in this moment in my heart. I gasped lightly as he pulled away from me to look into my eyes.

My brows furrowed in confusion.

"Ismene," he breathed as his forehead rested on mine, "take your moment of escape now. I give you this leave for if you remain here a moment longer...you give me consent to never let you go."

I flung my arm over his shoulder and I kissed him even more deeply. A moment later, I succumbed to his control over the art of intimacy.

* * *

:)

**Merry Christmas!**

_**Thank you for reading! Magda and Claire thank you so much for reviewing. **_

_**I was kind of worried that people were losing interest in the story, which was why I was taking so long to update - I did not know how to take the story forward. Your words give me strength people :)**_

_**Hopefully, you're starting to see Ismene's background a bit better. I want to focus more on Achilles and his background now, but I'll see once I read your feedback. **_

_**I kind of jumped around the place with this chapter too. Alot of things are in play. Is Eione out of her mind? Who knows :) I'm still being true to the movie so elements of that will come to play in the future.**_

_**LASTLY, love scene or not? I blush myself when I write love scenes, but they're fun to write. In the end of this chap, Ismene and Achilles do not make love. **_

_**LASTLY, LASTLY, any Greek readers know the correct translation of 'Sacred'?**_


	14. For Achilles III

Rated: Mature (Sexual Content)

**For Achilles III**

_Omniscient Narration  
_

_The white, freckled arms of the nymph, Thetis, wound itself around the legs of the seated god. She reached up and gently ensnared his thick beard with her other hand. Softly, she tugged it down._

_By them, Hera's golden eyes watched the exchange intently._

_Zeus smiled brightly as his face came closer to Thetis. The nymph laughed coquettishly as her finger brushed the sweet nektar from his bottom lip._

_"Do you see her?" The lilt in her voice was silvery and honeyed, an unhuman sound that hung pleasantly through and around the glorious hall._

_"Dear Thetis…we all see her," Zeus replied, his voice reverberating down her spine._

_The lightness in her voice did not lift as she asked, "will she doom my son?"_

_"Your son is doom, itself. He will not need another to doom himself," Hera interjected, full of cold, cold venom._

_The son of Kronos shot his head immediately to his wife and, for once, Hera's gaze lowered in fear._

_"Do not mind her," Thetis heard from below the golden steps and looked to see the foamy eyes of Aphrodite, "Achilles will not die from the breasts of a woman."_

_The goddess of sex was sprawled over silk as her white gold hair fanned about her. Her legs were splayed over mounds and mounds of satin cushions. Her hips gyrated tenderly into the softness under her as she was pleasured by invisible wisps of air. Her eyes gently rolled under her eyelids as she whispered, "he will die by my Troy."_

_"Glory will be his," Zeus affirmed as Thetis returned her gaze to him._

_"But, the girl…" Thetis pressed._

_Zeus brought his hands to caress her chin and spoke clearly, "she is not blessed under Olympus. She is daughter to Cybele, and I cannot touch her. I have nothing to do with the goddesses of Gaia."_

_Thetis tightened her grip on his beard and whispered, "He is your blood, your great-grandson, and my life…grant him his magnificence."_

_"Or what?" With that, Zeus flung the sea nymph from the great mountain back into the waters of the earth._

* * *

Achilles sat as his eyes traveled over her body. She was a thin woman, yes, but, as his eyes confirmed, she was nothing less than a woman. He watched the nervousness shine from behind her eyes and brought her hand to his lips. She was stripped of everything save for a sheer chiton. Her dark nipples peeked at him and the dusting of hair between her thighs contrasted beautifully with her tanned skin.

Her hand moved to his face and then his hair as she looked down at him, her breathing deep and constant. She moved closer and she could feel his warm breathing fluttering the chiton against her stomach. Her free hand unfastened the ties that held the chiton together, and then Ismene stood naked in front of Achilles. The warrior traced his hands down her side and to her breasts. His fingers brushed the faint stretch lines on her breasts and over her hips.

Suddenly, his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled, turning her around and seating her between his thighs on the cushioned _klismos_. Ismene gasped in surprise as she turned her head to look into his serious eyes. Before she could speak, his lips covered hers and his tongue dove within her, eliciting a sharp moan from both of their throats.

The arm ensnared about her waist sought her breasts and his hand squeezed the mounds tightly once found. He felt her nipples rise quickly in response and his fingers adeptly worked to pull, pinch, and roll the sensitive points. Ismene broke the kiss, being overwhelmed by the feel of his hands on her. Her breathing was labored both from the kiss and the continuous manipulation of her breasts. She steadied her hand on his thigh, in order to reclaim her composure. But, the warrior would not give her that reprieve. She was completely his in that moment. Achilles smirked as he shifted his hips downward, which prevented Ismene from rising and brought her back down onto his chest. She shuddered in pleasure as her recaptured her lips with his own. He released her breast from his grasp and grabbed her thigh, pulling her leg upwards. He linked her leg over his own, spreading her for his own perusal. His free hand followed suit, down and down. He smiled into their kiss as she stiffened once his finger parted her below. He saw her eyes wild with anxiety as he moved up and down the folds of her womanhood.

Ismene was delirious with desire as his thumb pressed down on the most exquisite creation of pleasure on the female body. Her body went slack as he released her mouth and slipped his lips to her neck.

"Please…" she croaked.

He focused his fingers on the sweet point as her body rose and rose to heights of fire. Her head was thrown back on his shoulder as he brought her to the first of many orgasms. She did not scream; she could not. Her voice was caught in her throat. Instead, she shook violently as waves of fire washed violently over her body.

Yet, Achilles did not stop.

He held her ankle, so that she could not close her legs. Then, as her shaking subsided, his finger entered her, an easy feat as she was wet from his doing.

She was almost in pain with pleasure.

Her hand shot out to grasp his arm as he continued. The room was loud with her gasps of air and her mind was hazy with pure lust. Achilles remained calm as he watched her dance with and against the pleasure she was receiving. Her hips rolled roughly, stimulating him in a way that needed to be remedied soon.

She was sent over the edge once more when she looked down and saw the hard sinews of his forearm working diligently to grant her release. She groaned loudly as this orgasm completely overshadowed the first. Achilles smiled as he knew that she would be mortified if she realized how loud she actually was.

Her back slumped down onto his chest as sweat rolled down her temple. Slowly, she caught her breath.

She turned to him and gently brought his face to hers, in a tender kiss.

"Lay down…" he said quietly as he signaled with his eyes to the furs on his bed. He was far from done with her.

She smiled and slowly rose, her legs tentatively regaining themselves. He watched her as she walked to the opposite side of the tent, and then he rose. His clothing fell of his body and various shadows danced over his chest as the tent's flame was fanned around.

Her heart beat faster as she settled completely into the furs and watched him approach her.

* * *

**:)**

**What do you think? Too graphic? I can tone it down.  
**

**I'm super sorry for taking so long to post. And I won't make any excuses, just please continue to read. I value you all so much. Thank you!**

**PS - I'm trying to incorporate actual mythology over the next few chapters as I focus on Achilles (a reviewer asked about this). I do a lot of research on actual, physical locations, so I really am not making up places like Mysia, Paphlagonia, Lydia, PHRYGIA (lol), though my timing might be off. I just wanted to add authenticity to this story and I want to keep the culture embedded in the story. As well, I think it's kinda fun for readers to look up these places and learn more about ancient history. But, just my 2 cents. :) **


	15. The Fickleness of Men

**The Fickleness of Men**

As the second flex of his arm drove the metal deeper, the Trojan soldier was removed from the world. Achilles straightened as a volley of warm blood washed itself over his limbs and upper chest. Immediately, he swung his sword in an arc behind him to quickly decapitate the advancing Trojan aiming at his back. The man fell quickly without the knowledge of death clouding his eyes. Achilles looked over his shoulder to maintain a scope over his men. They moved not as one but as many with a force as uncontrollable and unassailable as their lord. All around him lay the bodies of men. He wiped sweat from nose as he regarded the bodies of two men felled by the same spear. The first was pierced clean through the heart, but the other, he remembered from earlier, did not receive that grace. He bled to death under the body of the first, his cries deafening and his eyes tearful. Near the two men lay another, dead from a deep gash along the side of his neck.

The thick dust of the plains was mixed into many, many trails of blood, creating a sludge of death along the walls of Troy.

They were retreating now. Another day, another slaughter. Again and again and again. He had lost another Myrmidon a fortnight back. Demeas followed Linos into Hades' realm. He was a good man, strong, quiet and stout. He was the cousin of Deidamia.

She would never forgive him.

The warlord sighed as he and his men began the awful task of clearing Greek bodies. Their ashes would be sent to their countries, to the waiting cries of mothers and wives. On the shores of the West, their arms would be stretched out to collect their lost men as their wailing songs rise and continue across the Aegean, on and on and on.

"Achilles!" King Odysseus reigned his chariot close to the Myrmidon, his horse gasping in fatigue and heat as it kicked up a cloud of brown dust. "I will not make any more excuses for you. Agamemnon requires you attend him. Now."

"He will hold counsel here? Among the blood of those he felled so nobly?" he replied wryly.

"I do not have time for your jokes. Camp. At once."

"I must clean myself."

"I wasn't aware our battalion allowed pleasure girls to fight. You are going to a council meeting, Achilles, not a festival."

Achilles hoisted another body onto a waiting cart. "I'll speak to your king," he said softly, leaving Odysseus with nothing more than that.

There was a pause as the King of Ithaca steadied his horse. "The girl, Eione…she wishes to see your…Ismene, is she called? Since early winter, they have been separated. I admit…I am not one for feminine conversation," he smiled, "girls need more than a good fuck, I suppose."

Achilles did not miss a beat as another body was piled onto the cart. "She does not leave my camp."

"The slaughters are diminishing. Spring brings food, trade. You need not fear for her safety."

"You bring Eione, then. Bring her to Ismene."

"You can't keep yourself isolated from the Greeks. That is the reason Agamemnon-"

"Can't I?" Achilles broke, his eyes piercing the older man.

Odysseus sighed and turned his horse to depart. "This evening, Achilles. His ire only grows."

* * *

I remembered the fear I felt when I first saw Achilles. In comparison to him, I was nobody. I was small, with no name, no backing, nothing. I could never have been a great enough heroine to match the hero within him. Apart from this, I was terrified of his potential. Who had not heard of Achilles, son of Peleus? His name stretched over the Aegean and struck fear in men, women, and children alike. He was a giant, his golden hair kissing the clouds above. He roamed mercilessly, killing all that he saw. He sustained his appetite with flesh and imbibed on blood. He was the fastest route to Hades' realm, Achilles. Nobody – nothing – compared to him.

Unfortunately, as I had believed, I had led myself straight into his stronghold. My brother always said that there was nowhere in this world where trouble could hide itself from me. I had found him, in all of his brilliance.

I had come to believe that my attraction towards him was solely that of a girl dependent on her captor. Without him, I was dead in the Greek camp. But, with every shy glance, with every wrinkling of his forehead as he pondered over each of my nonsense thoughts, with every lift of his shoulders as he saw me, and with every beaming smile as he watched me smile, I knew that I could not hide my feelings through the guise of captor and captive.

I wanted him. Deep within me, I could never again believe the excuse of my own self-worth. He was perfectly mine.

My skin was still flushed and my eyes remained locked on his. He was still inside of me, calm and silent. His body was bathed in the setting light as I traced my fingers through his hair. He had moved to relieve me of his weight, but he was still over me, near me. Many times, we would remain this way afterwards. The air remained heady with the only sounds audible being our breathing in unison, the crashing waves, the faint clatter and chatter of the men, and, sometimes, his heartbeat. His arm was sprawled over my chest and our hands remained intertwined. I thought my nervousness would be a thing of the past by now, but my belly turned uncontrollably as I watched him look at me. His eyes, so blue, washed over my face. I could never tell what he was thinking. He ranged from a strong seriousness to an unsureness that I found unsettling. I knew his habits, patterns, and emotions with general certainty, but, after he made love to me, I could not place him.

"Ismene…" he said quietly. I didn't respond. My eyes moved in acknowledgement.

"Are you sure you know who I am?"

"You are Achilles," my voice felt meek.

"Are you sure you know what I came here to do?"

Again. "You are Achilles."

He remained silent as his hand moved over my belly, lower and lower.

"I know what you came here for," I said, "I am not naïve to your purpose. Queen Helen is only a means for your king and for your glory."

"I came here for Priam's blood, his heir, his children," he said, his eyes digging into mine, "I came here for the blood of every Trojan man and woman, the blood of every Trojan child. Your blood, Ismene. I came here to kill you. And here you are."

"Here I am. With you on these sands." I smiled slightly as I regarded him. "I fear I do not exemplify a proper nationalist."

He smiled. "You exemplify the best of this world, little fish."

"I am so scared, Achilles. I am so scared of the fickleness of you men."

He chuckled. "The world would be quite boring without our fickleness," his finger traced my face, "quite boring, indeed."

"My heart is torn," I continued earnestly, "torn without sense."

"Hmm. On which side does the bigger piece lie?"

He moved himself from me and turned to his side, pulling my body closer to his. I felt his lips on my forehead as his arms wrapped themselves tighter around me.

"I ask you if you truly know who I am, Ismene, because I have lost that sense."

"I find that hard to believe," I whispered.

"You are killing me. You. In every sense of the word. Every time I see you, every move you make, you strike me down. I have died a thousand deaths under your name." Smiling, he said, "We are both betraying our causes, I fear."

I kissed him, then, fully with every tremor I had ever felt for him.

"Secret wench! Did you render your heart to complete mine?" he joked, moving above me again.

"I must stop the Achaeans somehow."

As our breathing subsided, for the second time that evening, I heard the rolling of thunder and the kick of gales. Spring turbulence had settled over the region. Even the battles became more erratic. Achilles and I, as well.

I straightened his chlamys and looked over his attire. King Odysseus, along with an assortment of generals, had been waiting for him in the Myrmidon encampment. He had avoided many meetings by simple ignorance. Now, to his annoyance, the council was literally at his door. _They are escorting me like a bride to her bridegroom._

He kissed me and gestured to the bed. "Keep it warm."

I did not know why I felt like that was the optimal time to say what I said, but I could not help myself.

"I love you."

I was momentarily caught in fear as his brows raised in incredulity. "You are now only realizing this, Ismene?"

"I…" my tongue was stilled as he moved to his cloak by the door. As he turned his head back to me, I was greeted by his beautiful smile.

"As I watched you run wildly through the shrubs towards the cliff, hopeful escape flush upon your cheeks, I loved you. That day, I loved you."

He left me there with a last, mischievous grin and my soul bursting within my breast.

I ran to the opening of the tent and embraced Eione as she entered. I was surprised to feel tears on my cheeks as I hugged her to me. We were a pair of bumbling, tearful, silly nerves as our voices worked to match our plethora of emotions. There was so much to be said.

She grasped my arms, her eyes wide with emotion and whispered, "there is a sign, Ismene. There is a way! The captives are escaping. There is a way!"

* * *

_**Thank you for reading!**_

_**All reviewers, followers, favorites thank you so so much!**_

_**Achilles and Agamemnon will finally meet next chapter!**_


	16. Eione, Princess of Caria

**Eione, Princess of Caria**

There was nothing I hated most in the world than picking bare the roots of tubers. My mother found it relaxing, but I, as a child, would always remain cross, sitting there in the burning sun with my face fixed in a childish scowl. She laughed, always, of course. And my scowl would be long forgotten, in the evenings, as I dove head first into her hearty fish and potato soup. The smell of it alone…what I would give to be back there with her, papa, and Attis. But, on the same coin, what would I give to be elsewhere, anywhere, alone with my enemy?

I was watching the other women laboring in the heat. They were picking bare the roots of tubers. Many of the young girls worked with babes tied about the backs. Over the months, many children had been born to this war. Many births and far too many maternal deaths. They were being bred like animals, the poor souls. I sighed, to nobody. The Scamander did nothing to relieve the sun's bearings. Our only saving grace was the large breezes generated by the crashing waves of the Aegean. I would have moved further towards the waters of the sea, but, as I confirmed by glancing over my shoulder, I would have surely been chastised by one of Achilles' soldiers, turned nursemaid. Everywhere, it was hot, hazy, and the air was thick with sweat. I had no chores left to complete; I was merely in need to see other company. Achilles was on a hunt with his cousin and a few of Ajax's men. There had been a rise in the boar population and, occasionally, I would see large fauna by the edges of the plains. The animals awakening from the winter brought a spark of warmth to the men. The animals brought sport, a luxury abandoned, by the soldiers, on their homeland shores. Well, for now, at least, butchery was not solely performed on human lives.

Achilles loved the chase. Once, to my horror, I found him, in a circle of jeering Myrmidons, wrestling a squealing boar. His hands were gripped firmly on its tusks as the animal bucked and lunged, trying to escape the grip. Of course, Achilles had not escaped that fight without his own markings. As I watched him clean himself, that evening, I noted multiple bruises and cuts, and even a long, angry gash on his forearm. But, the most amusing, was the bright smile and clear eyes he exhibited as he recounted the tale of the fight to me. He exaggerated the tale, beautifully, to my laughter. A laughter which he promptly turned into something more blush-inducing.

Now, I waited in the heat, for Eione. Achilles told me earlier that he was to take meetings with the high king, Agamemnon. I was not sure when I would see him in the evening.

"Come in, girl!' I jumped softly as I was hit with a spray of water from the former princess of Caria.

She stood thigh-high in the water, her body bare to all. Eione, daughter of Naster. She was very beautiful; a princess spun of gold and fair skin. Her hair fell in straight sweeps over her shoulders. I was always envious of her high breasts and the small colouring to her nipples. Her hips were large, her backside plump. I looked down to see the blond hair scattered below on her nether regions and upper thighs, and I blushed slightly. I hoped she did not think I was ogling her. The soldiers barely looked her way, anyway. We had all seen the nudity of Eione various times before. She was shameless, my mind repeated to me. I wish it did not, but it did. She had no shame prancing about as she did, in an area quite ruthless to women. She was the man that took her own conquests. The men did not control her, but she them. Her brazen sexuality was something foreign and enticing to the Greeks. Carefree and astute, she flew over these men with her cunning nature. Shameless, I thought. If she was shameless, what did that make me? A Trojan relishing every moment, begging for every moment, and loving every moment with the most damnable Greek soldier? What did that make me? I was not full of shame. I scoffed at the thought that I would feel any shame being so enveloped in Achilles. No. Even as I looked at the stone walls of Troy gleaming at me, my hands and lips would always seek out Achilles. No, there was no shame. It seemed that I was just as shameless as the Eione I criticized.

She was a good person, a good friend. I had no authority to insult her, internally, as I was doing. I stood from the banks and moved slowly into the water. Her wry smile showed her suspicion as she was not sure if I was about to attack her in play or actually join her in the water. Suddenly, I swept a wave of water that sprayed her entire body, knocking the breath from her lungs. She fell back into the water and I doubled over in laughter.

It wasn't to last long as I felt her grip on ankles, and, the next thing I knew, I was submerged underwater. My arms flailed as I struggled to right myself. I could hear her shrill laughter above me as she regained her senses.

"Phrygian slut!" she choked out between her laughter as she began to tickle me.

"Carian whore…" I stammered softly in merriment, which only furthered her laughing frenzy.

"My little fish, swearing like a preadolescent boy! My word!" she giggled.

I sobered slightly as I realized we had caused a scene. "Come, Eione. We are soaking wet."

"Nothing new to me," she said with a smirk.

I shook my head as I led her to Achilles' tent, using my large dress to shield her slightly from prying eyes.

* * *

"I have always wondered why the gods favor some with the sword and spear for very little reason at all."

Achilles flashed a cheeky grin and settled deeper into the furs on the seat below him. He turned his head slightly to the left as he regarded King Agamemnon.

"It is with the same vision that they favor kings of _no _reason to rule lands." _That they did not fight to win, _he almost added.

The two were alone in the hull of the High King's monumental ship. Agamemnon sat in all of his regalia on the makeshift throne fitted to the head of the hull. Achilles sat on the very last seat of the council benches. He felt a bit uncomfortable as the seats were not meant to accommodate stout, heavy men, only old kings. The way of war…and so on…and so on, Achilles thought.

"Do not insult me, boy."

"There is no insult in the truth," he shot back quickly.

Agamemnon snarled and waved away a young lad bearing wine. "I did not summon you here to exchange heated words. I do not have time for your buffoonery."

Achilles chuckled at that.

"I have requested your presence since the beginning of this war, and you have refused me. I do not care for your damn pride and nonsense. There is strategy and raids to develop and undertake. You have repeatedly forsworn your duties, Achilles."

"The first day, king of kings, - the _very _first day I took this beach for you, you spat in my face," he said in all seriousness.

"Oh! The girl? You are still nursing those wounds?! I should have you whipped!" Agamemnon spat loudly, "that girl would have ended this war! I would be sitting on Priam's throne if it were not for your stupidity!"

"You entered my camp, my tent, like the sly insect you are, and took my possession. Any semblance of cooperating with you fled the moment your dogs touched that girl."

"She was Hector's cousin! Hector!" Agamemnon yelled as he rose from his throne, "Would I have been able to nick the skin on that girl's face, nevertheless, kill her without that boy handing me Troy on a silver platter? He would never see her die and he would have had no choice!"

Achilles' voice remained deathly low. "You did not know who she was that day. It was I you wished to dishonor, and you failed."

Agamemnon could not counter him. With a flourish of his robes and a huff, he turned back to sit on his throne.

"No matter. You know how spoils are distributed," Agamemnon conceded.

"I do know," Achilles said.

"Over the winter, you did not aid your brothers with the scarcity of food," Agamemnon stated as he plopped deeper into his seat.

"And why should I have? I owe no allegiance to them anymore."

"They are your Greek brothers."

"They are your sheep. No brothers of mine."

"Ah, well…"

"You murdered women for food."

"Ah, come now. Do not say that as if we ate the sluts."

"You killed them."

"Women die every day. These are not Greek women; they are pleasure girls, commodities. I will not starve a soldier to feed a whore. Besides…there are many more to come once I take the city."

"Yes, once you take the city," Achilles mocked.

Agamemnon's lips tightened as he regarded the Myrmidon. "I am King, Achilles," he said, his eyes glowing furiously, "I own half of the Aegean. Me! Agamemnon! You will answer to me. You will follow my bidding. If you dare deny me once more, I will destroy her."

Achilles' right hand clenched the fur below it as his face remained emotionless. The muscles in his legs tightened and he fought to remain calm.

"It seems I encroached upon the wrong girl," Agamemnon continued, his face contorting in pleasure as he found Achilles' heel, and, for once, took control of the situation.

"Be careful…" Achilles stated, his voice thick enough to kill.

"It is not healthy to be so on edge, dear Achilles. You have enough to deal with. You say I am king of sheep. Yes, and my hand stretches over the pastures of these sheep," he chuckled as he continued, "these pastures remain green and lively and rich as long as my sheep go wherever I command and do whatever I command, whenever I command it."

Achilles' hand ground into the wooden construction of the seat below him.

"The only place that girl will be safe will be inside you head, in your memories, before I remove that, too. Do you hear me, boy?"

A pause stretched over the two as Achilles regained his composure.

"You have not learned…" Achilles finally said.

Agamemnon cocked a brow.

"If you touch her, you doom yourself. She holds Troy for you, king of kings," Achilles nodded his head towards his sword, laying by him on the fur-clad seats. "If you touch her, I will slit the throats of Clytemnestra, Electra, Orestes, and Chrysothemis in front of you…then, I will remove your head. I will remove you from this world, king of kings, and all of history will cower at Agamemnon's fate at the hands of Achilles."

"You do not scare me."

"Oh, I do…I do."

Achilles stood to leave. "Get out!" Agamemnon yelled to him.

"I am the soldier you have always needed and the one you have always feared. If Hector were to take your head in the morning, it would make no difference to me." Achilles tipped his head towards the king as he approached the exit to the ship. "If you threaten me again, I will kill you, king of kings."

* * *

Eione pulled a stray shrub from my hair as I bent to pick the apples at the root of the tree. We were further inland at Hellespont; further than we usually strayed. Castor, Achilles' man, was with us at a distance. He was with his lyre, his mouth going over words for his ballad. Occasionally, Eione and I would hear the strumming of the instrument. He was a beautiful player. We only had a few hours of daylight left. Eione linked her arm with mine as she looked back to make sure Castor was far away.

"He says that he was a Lydian priest and has spent the past year learning about the Greeks' ways. He is with the Cretan regiment of soldiers."

"Are you sure that he is truthful?" I asked.

"What can we be sure of, Ismene? We can only take chances at this point. He has the accent of an Eastern man and he does not look Greek."

I sighed. "That is not enough. If he and the people with him are caught, it is automatic death."

"He has led other slaves out. He is a good man."

I looked at her and saw the resolve in her eyes – her mind had already decided.

"They move through Abydos and end up at the port of Cyzicus in Mysia. I do not know the cities as well as you do. You could lead alongside him, Ismene."

"Eione-"

She removed her arm from mine. "Ismene! I am not staying a slave. I am finished. Are you?"

"You know I cannot. Not yet…"

"When, then? When Troy is gone? When your brother is dead?"

"Don't say that."

"Those walls will not last. Do you not know who you bed?"

"Eione," I said, telling her with my eyes what my mouth could not say. _I could not leave Achilles._

"I understand, Ismene, but that is not the priority now. It is not. You know I am right. I see the herbs of fennel in your basket, you are not stupid."

I looked down at my basket to see that the herbs I had secretly collected were peeking through. Fennel removed any traces of a child. My mother taught me how to spot and use it when I first began my monthly bleeding. I could not add something so precious to our current calamity. I looked back up at Eione.

"We cannot risk our lives like this," I said.

She shook her head. "I am finished. I will not wait -"

Behind her, hidden by the thick forestry, I could see large, large bales of hay, far from us, giant spheres dotting the green. I counted thirty or so bales. They were hidden by the trees and shrubbery as well as the walls of the city. From the angle of the camps, no Greek could see it.

"What do you think those are?" Eione asked me, her eyes glued to the scene.

"I do not know. They are man-made."

She turned to me, "the Trojans."

"An ambush, maybe -"

We were startled as Castor whistled to us, indicating our return. Eione intertwined her arm with mine and we walked towards him.

"It will weaken them and cause confusion, Ismene. It will be the prime time to leave."

I sighed as my brain racked over the possibilities and the losses.

"Your brother, Ismene. Think of him. We need to leave this beach, this city. Trojan citizens are leaving, the palisades are open. We only need to find Attis. It is that easy, Ismene."

We reached Castor, now. He looked at us amusingly, with our baskets full of apples and herbs. Then, he led us on.

"Please," Eione whispered to me, "please, do not let me go alone."

* * *

I entered Achilles' tent and found him on the low furs with a flagon of wine by his side. I smiled and he smiled. I lowered the basket and removed my thin cloak.

"Come here," he said, his voice hoarse with wine. I sat on his lap and kissed him deeply, tasting the wine on his lips. He had been drinking quite a bit from the look in his eyes and I was worried.

"Achilles…are you alright?"

"Would you leave these shores with me? Tonight, if I wished?"

"Achilles -"

"Would you?"

Would I? I looked into his eyes and saw him pleading with me. But for what? I did not know. I could not answer him. Not now.

I removed my dress and kissed him again.

"I must clean myself," I said. Yet, I felt as if those words answered something in his mind.

I rose and turned my back to find the rag to bathe. He rose behind me and began to strap his sandals. "I will be back, Ismene."

I nodded with my back still turned, hoping that I had not hurt him. I felt him directly behind me and then, I felt his lips on the top of my head.

"Eudorus will be right outside." With that, he left.

Would I honestly leave Troy with Achilles? When he asked me that, immediately my heart said 'yes.' I did not think of my brother or Melitta's baby, I did not think of this war or of anybody else other than him. That is what scared me. I would leave anywhere as long as he was by my side. I had no home save for him. He was my home.

Later that night, as I lay in bed, I felt him enter the warmth beside me. His arm circled my waist and I felt his heartbeat on my back. I intertwined my fingers with his, and I brought his hand to my lips.

"Where will you take me?" I whispered softly.

Behind me, I could feel his face slip into a smile.

I woke early the next morning, before the sun had risen. Achilles woke to see me fastening my sandals, his face confused.

"Are you taking my place today, Ismene?" he said, groggily. I strode towards him, a cup of warm tea ready for him.

"I must show you something." I said, keeping my voice low.

Immediately, all signs of joke and tiredness fled from his eyes. He had never concerned me with the happenings of this war; he would not have me bear that burden. But, in my face, he must have seen the fear in my eyes. The fear for his safety and the fear that a turning point was soon to pass.

He cloaked and armed himself, and we disappeared into dawn.

* * *

_**Thank you for reading. :)**_

_**To all of the amazing people that reviewed the past few chapters, THANK YOU SO MUCH! You honestly don't know how amazing I feel when I read what you have to say. Thank you for taking the time out to review my work. And thanks everyone that followed and favorited the story. I will always thank y'all.**_

_**What did you think? Did you like the Agamemnon scene? I'm slowly incorporating 3rd person, but not too much. This is still Ismene's story. **_


	17. The Boy

**The Boy**

"It is not too far," I said, feeling his hands around my waist as he hoisted me over a gnarled root.

We were still under the cloak of early morning and only a handful of soldiers from the surrounding encampments were roused. Achilles took my hand, drawing me nearer to his body, nearer to stave off the chill morning breezes.

"How many did you say?" he asked.

"I counted thirty-four. Do you know for what purpose they will be used?"

"I have an idea…" he drawled off above me.

We trekked, then, quietly as I followed the trail Eione and I had traveled upon earlier.

**'''**

"There, do you see?" I noted that the number of bales had increased.

Achilles stooped to see further the extent. "They build at night," he pointed, "you see. Supplies from that palisade."

It was the Eastern palisade in the lower city. Melitta, Maia, Nikias, and I used that very same entrance to journey down to the sea. It felt strange seeing it from this vantage point, physically and emotionally.

Achilles stood. "They will light them, setting the Greek ships on fire."

I looked at his face, trying to judge how this affected his composure. He did not seem as bothered as a Greek soldier should be if a threat like this was posed. I would be lying if I said that I did not feel a hint of elation at the possibility of the Trojans gaining this victory.

"They will want to maximize damage. Your ship is too far from the sand hills."

Achilles had the sense to build his camp by the Scamander, away from the congregation of ships and camps by the sea. The Myrmidons were ensconced from the other Greeks just as if they were enemies, themselves.

"Yes," he said.

"The night guards will not notice?"

"They guard themselves against other Greeks. They watch each respective camp. It seems…the Greeks are too uncivilized to guard against the very, same enemy that they wage war upon," he derided.

The winds picked up and I rested my hand softly on his back. "Do not worry," he said, "they aim to destroy goods and supplies. Create confusion. Rarely are there any casualties."

"Will you inform the other kings?" I looked up at him, "Agamemnon?"

I was not sure, but I was certain that his lips tugged into a slight smile before he began to guide me back into his camp.

"Sometimes, I truly wonder whose side you are fighting for."

"Only the one," he chuckled.

**'''**

_Bark, root, and green, I weave of Cybele. She is earth, moist, damp, and dark. She is ready to give and to take back. She is water and salt, wind and haze. The goddess of Phrygia, do you see her? _

**'''**

"Are you mad?!" Achilles promptly released my hand as we reached the Myrmidon camp. Ahead of me, I saw Patroclus, garbed in fresh armor. The silver shone brightly in the rising sun, and nestled under his arm, was a helmet topped with an elaborate, red plume. Patroclus stood as his cousin approached him, more so due to his own apprehension.

I did not need to see Achilles' face to know that his cousin was facing the rage of Ares himself.

"Cousin…" Patroclus stammered. I could see the apple in his throat quiver in anticipation.

"If you are marching to sea with the weight of that armor to drown yourself, go ahead," Achilles bellowed, "for I will kill you, myself, before you march in the opposite direction."

I walked slowly behind Achilles, leaning my gait towards the side of his dwelling. I knew his temper, and I could not leave Patroclus with it. Eudorus was in my periphery, his ears fully open to this melee. A few other Myrmidons roamed a distance away.

"Two years, Achilles. I have been here…waiting for close to two years," Patroclus pleaded, "what kind of inequity is that?"

"What did I tell you?" Achilles uttered.

"What _did _you tell me? Am I not ready? I have sparred with you, watched you fight. I have disarmed half of your Myrmidons. How many times must I clean these shields? How many times must I act guard to women? How many bodies must I clean to understand the finality of death? 'When you are ready,' you say. When will that be, cousin?"

"When you are dead," Achilles spat with venom, "When I have torn you limb from limb, then you will stand by my side."

Patroclus straightened and his jaw clenched as he regarded his cousin.

Achilles continued, "This is not a pastime, Patroclus. This is not triumph and victory. It is the worst-"

"Cousin, I am ready," Patroclus choked out, in a voice thick with emotion. His blue eyes flashed bright at Achilles and his clear resolve was unquestionable.

Achilles loomed over him, his eyes scanning the younger. "Remove that. Remove yourself from here."

The cracking silence between the two was painful. I had to look away.

Patroclus turned from his cousin, his head held high. The same pride Achilles exhibited resonated soundly in Patroclus as he made his way down to his shelter.

**'''**

"Why did you bring him?" I asked quietly.

Achilles remained focused on fastening his greaves. He had said nothing once we entered his tent. Outside, the majority of his soldiers were readying themselves for battle. The background of gruff tongues and slicing metal only added to the growing tension within the tent.

"Patroclus will never understand…he refuses to understand."

"All he speaks about is you. Your voracity, your talent. Any chance that he gets." I stood to help him fasten his cuirass.

"That is the mistake, Ismene," he said softly, "he does not see all that I see, and he does not understand that the battle continues, ever fiercer, after the horns sound loudly.

"I brought him here, because I cannot reign in the growing, false notions that he keeps on a pedestal. He is a strong boy, yet he is weak, weak where it matters most. I taught him how to fight, but I cannot live with myself if he dies in the guise that war is the greatest glory, that death is life."

I felt his hand under my chin, and my eyes met his. "In my years of warfare, it is shameful that I did not realize that sooner," he said.

"My lord." We heard Eudorus outside the tent, informing Achilles of the troops' imminent departure.

"At times, I wished that I was halted many times over in the same way that I halt Patroclus," he said, as he garbed his helmet, "my actions have haunted me. My thoughts…"

"There was never a boy before me, Ismene. Never. War, death, and power have been my mother, my father...my friend. I will not allow the same to happen to him," he trailed.

Beyond the tent, I could see the shadow of Eudorus, waiting for his lord. I looked up at Achilles and nodded in understanding. It was a jagged trail on which he led his life, and I loved him even more for the control in which he commanded that trail.

His hands dug into my hair and I felt his lips on my temple. We broke apart and he headed to the exit.

"He will never fight?" I asked.

A pause, as he held back the leather straps to the entrance. "He will never fight."

**'''**

_I see her, mother. Strong and deadly, she protects all. I shall never forget her. I cannot forgo her. Cybele, goddess of earth, do you see me? Mother, will she see me?_

* * *

**_Thank you for reading! :)_**

**_I had to post this! So forgive me for not letting the previous chapter sort of sink in. _**

**_Please tell me what you think :)_**


	18. Mother Goddess

**Mother. Goddess. **

"Scyros blazed hotter than any other kingdom," Achilles said, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes, "yet, nothing could have prepared me for the damp furnace that lay in wait for me on Mt. Pelion."

"No relief at all? Odd, for such a mountainous region."

"Yes. The winds missed that assignment." His palm covered my forehead and I felt his fingers tremble softly upon my temple. I looked up at him, his blue eyes staring down at me in mirth. His hand slinked down my face, aiming coyly for my right breast. I quickly grabbed the intruder, placing his hand back on my head. He pinched my chin and conceded his hand to remain on my hairline. "You only deny yourself…" he mused softly.

"You will not stop…" I whispered back.

He shrugged.

"I am scarcely clothed on the beaches of Troy, Achilles, and you properly garbed. I will not be found disheveled with you."

"With me how? On you? In you?" His smile grew wider as my face grew hotter. "I am not baking myself in that damn tent for decency's sake."

I laughed at this. "Oh, child of the Mediterranean breeze. This is frankly nothing."

"Child…she calls me. Well, princess of the East's fire, I am merely a visitor of this land of yours."

He was, was he not? Merely a visitor. One that I could not escape. One that I did not want to escape.

"Mt. Pelion?"

"Oh, yes. Hades' playroom. Chiron struck Ajax and I whenever we winced from the sweat burning our eyes. 'Builds character' he said. 'Builds character,"…every man in power uses that same adage when they cannot think of a better reason for their implementation of irrational torture." He looked down at me, rubbing the faint stubble on his jaw, a look of playful realization dawning across his features. "I have uttered that same line to Patroclus far too many times."

Smiling, I turned my head to the left to see the waves of the water ebbing and flowing towards me, leveled with my head. Achilles suggested we escape the heat of the day by the waters. My dress was bunched at my waist, in his guise of helping me cool down. To my comfort, we were perfectly hidden from other soldiers. Although, a number of women collected jugs of water from the Scamander, away from us but still quite visible. A hint of guilt had washed over me as I took in the sight of these women, battered by the day's work and their men, as I was enveloped in the arms of Achilles, without worry nor fear.

"What if I had perched myself behind another warrior's tent, that first day? Somebody evil?" I blurted.

"Am I not evil by your standards, Ismene?" he asked cheekily.

"No, you are not," I immediately answered. Sincerely, he was not.

The waves sang their trickling song as his mind ticked.

"I would never have known you," he said matter-of-factly. "Another would have claimed you. I do not know…you might have easily been killed."

I sat up, pulling by dress over my breasts. "No light in adversity, for me, at least."

His hand pulled my head closer and his lips were on mine, deeply.

"I would never have known you," he said, pulling away from me. In his eyes, I saw all of trepidation, anxiety, wonder, astonishment.

Love.

I settled into his arms. "Women have a way of complicating things?" I said, repeating Odysseus' old quip.

I would have missed it minutes later, in the soft crashing of waves. Barely above his whispering lilt, he responded.

"No."

* * *

There was much that I kept from Achilles, and I was sure that there was much that he kept from me. I preferred it this way. It seemed a necessary caution. The same air that lights is the same air that snuffs. If it were all to crash, I would not leave myself grasping for nothing. Not again.

That night, after our lounge by the sea, I called on Cybele. My mother's goddess. My goddess. The mother of Phrygia. I had never prayed directly to her within the two years that I had been on the Greek beach. I felt that I must keep her clean from this war, from this love, for my betrayal. I was not ashamed enough and I did not have the will to feign anything of that kind.

Yet, I called on Cybele that night. I stood waist-deep in the Scamander, in the blank of night. My body wrapped in black, my head veiled in black, my hair framed upon my shoulders. My neck was bent accordingly to the moon, which shone so bright, I knew in my heart that she was looking down at me. _Mother. Goddess._

I could feel the mud of the banks digging into my toes as I practiced the ritual that I had performed so enthusiastically as a young girl in the sea of Propontis. The ritual that my mother, father, and brother watched me perform every seven days. _The Call to Cybele, mother goddess. _

I felt the water ripple as another entered the river.

"_Kuvava…Kuvava…"_

I trembled as I heard the familiar call.

"_Kuvava_…" he said, as he joined me, his voice growing a hair above a whisper.

It was the Lydian name for Cybele. I had heard the name many times as I had prayed with the Lydian settlers in Troy, before the war.

He stood by me now, the revolutionary priest. I could feel a sense of comfort due to our mutual worship of Cybele.

Yet, I did not share this comfort.

I looked behind me to see Eione, calm in her own meditation. More importantly, I faintly traced the tent of Achilles in the background.

Did he believe that this outing of mine was purely spiritual? He could taste and pinpoint any sign of weakness. And, I was full of it. He would have sensed it.

This I could not hide from him.

The humming continued, "_Kuvava…kuvava…_" The priest turned to me, urging my eyes forward in worship.

"Cybele," I drawled in my native tongue, "Cybele…Cybele…Cybele…

_Protect Achilles…_

* * *

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